


Sorry I Took So Long

by cardinalgirl75



Series: Across Two Lifetimes [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Reincarnation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, and there's a lot more angst in this one, but it will work out for Jaime and Brienne in the end, including very very very brief incest, okay everybody buckle up, sorry - Freeform, this is Jaime's story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalgirl75/pseuds/cardinalgirl75
Summary: From his earliest childhood, Jaime knew that his soulmark had to be hidden from the rest of the world.  He didn’t understandwhy,exactly, just that it was easier for everyone if he kept it covered up, out of sight if not out of everyone’s mind.  On the rare occasions his father saw it, he glared at Jaime as though he’d had something to do with its existence and stalked out of the room.  When their mother gave them baths, Cersei sometimes got a look at it, but she didn’t know the importance of it any more than he did.  All she ever said was, “Why does Jaime have one and I don’t?”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Across Two Lifetimes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980070
Comments: 92
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here is the beginning of Jaime's part of the story. Many MANY thanks to waxedpaperdoor for taking time out of their very busy schedule to read through it!!

From his earliest childhood, Jaime knew that his soulmark had to be hidden from the rest of the world. He didn’t understand _why,_ exactly, just that it was easier for everyone if he kept it covered up, out of sight if not out of everyone’s mind. On the rare occasions his father saw it, he glared at Jaime as though he’d had something to do with its existence and stalked out of the room. When their mother gave them baths, Cersei sometimes got a look at it, but she didn’t know the importance of it any more than he did. All she ever said was, “Why does Jaime have one and I don’t?” She said the same thing every time she got a glimpse of his penis, which also had to be hidden away from the rest of the world. 

The only person who had not treated his mark as something to be scorned was his mother, his beautiful, long-haired mother with the sad green eyes. She always gave his wrist a little kiss and whispered, “You’re perfect just as you are” before dressing him in the tight-cuffed shirts that hid his wrist away from prying eyes. Jaime didn’t understand that, either. If he was perfect, why couldn’t he wear short-sleeved shirts to run around in like the boys he saw in his favorite cartoons? Even on the hottest of days, he had to wear long sleeves that wouldn’t ride up with wear, lest anyone get a glimpse of bare skin.

He asked his mother that once, but she burst into tears and held him close and whispered, “Someday, Jaime, someday you’ll be able to do what you want,” and he felt so bad for making her cry like that that he never brought it up again.

Perhaps things would have been different if his mother hadn’t died when he was five, leaving him with nothing but memories of her that faded and a baby brother his father scorned more than he scorned Jaime’s soulmark. But his mother did die, and any sense of normalcy died with her. Tywin started leaving on business trips that kept him from home for days and sometimes weeks at a time. Aunt Genna did her best to try and make up the difference, but she had a family of her own and could only do so much.

Jaime soon realized that the reason they didn’t have people over was because of his soulmark. They didn’t attend school like their Lannister and Marbrand cousins did because their father feared that someone might find out about it. They didn’t have anyone other than relatives over to visit because if Jaime or Cersei formed friendships, those friends might spend the night and someone might see it by accident. Their housekeeper, nanny, and tutor were paid _very_ well and signed nondisclosure agreements.

Jaime knew he was fortunate because he had Cersei. She helped him when he struggled with math, and he helped her with reading. They swam in the pool and played in the gardens and laughed and had wonderful adventures on weekends and holidays. They pretended to be like other kids, like the ones they read about in stories or saw on television—when they were allowed to watch television, which wasn’t often.

They snuck into each other’s rooms at night and whispered secrets and occasionally traded kisses, which they’d seen in a movie that would not have been approved of by their nanny. One night when they were nine years old, Jaime asked her if she blamed him because his soulmark kept them from being able to be with others, like normal kids.

“No,” she whispered. “I like having you all to myself. Do you want to be with someone else?”

“No,” he whispered back. “Just you.”

For all their whispers in the night, for all the secrets they shared, Jaime never told Cersei about the woman he saw in his dreams. Lingering in his mind was Aunt Genna saying that he couldn’t tell anyone about his friend Wench, just as he couldn’t tell anyone about the soulmark. Even though Cersei knew about the mark, he didn’t think she’d like hearing about him dreaming about someone else, even if it was someone who didn’t really exist.

~*~*~*~*~*

_Jaime had been in the wench’s company for only a short time before he became curious about her, mostly because she was the first person he had seen whom he was not previously acquainted with in more than a year. She looked like a peasant but spoke like someone highborn. He tried to make polite conversation with her, but she rebuffed all his efforts._

_“How is it that you serve Robb of Winterfell?” he asked._

_“It is Lady Catelyn I serve, and she commanded me to deliver you safe to your brother Tyrion at King’s Landing, not to bandy words with you. Be silent. I have no words for monsters.”_

_“What monsters?” Jaime asked with a derisive laugh. “I see no monsters hereabouts, and if there are, I would do much better with a sword.”_

_“A man who would defile his own sister, murder his king, and fling an innocent child to his death deserves no other name.”_

_Jaime felt fury at hearing his relationship with Cersei described in such a way. Defile? His relationship with Cersei was the purest thing he had. The idea that he had defiled her was abominable to him._

_“You will be courteous as concerns Cersei, wench,” he said in a low voice._

_“My name is Brienne, not_ wench.” __

_“What do you care what a monster calls you?”_

_“My name is Brienne,” she repeated stubbornly…_

~*~*~*~*~*

Things changed shortly after the twins’ tenth nameday.

Their father brought them into his office, where they’d never been allowed before. Aunt Genna was already seated in one of the chairs and she gave them an overly bright smile when they filed in, Cersei first, followed by Jaime.

“Against my better judgment,” Father began, his eyes flickering to Aunt Genna, “I’ve decided that the time has come for the two of you to attend a private day school. The new school year begins at Lannisport Academy next month, and the two of you will start then.”

Jaime wanted to shout with joy. “Do not speak without permission” was one of Father’s rules when they were in his presence, and he wasn’t about to break it. Especially not since they were on the brink of being allowed to go to school and play with other children.

“I still believe this to be the height of foolishness—”

“Tywin, people are talking,” Aunt Genna said. “By trying to keep them from finding out about Jaime’s soulmark, you’ve opened up speculation about what you’re trying to hide. Not only that, but they have to learn the social skills necessary to do well in the future. How is Jaime going to be the businessman you want him to be if he has no idea how to interact with others? How will Cersei find a suitable husband or become a leader in our social circles?”

Cersei frowned. “What if I want to go into business?” she asked.

“There are rules that I expect the two of you to follow,” Father said as if Cersei hadn’t spoken, though he gave her a reproachful look. “First, your friends must be approved by me or by your aunt. Although the majority of the children who attend the academy are from appropriate families, there are some students who attend on scholarship.” He gave Aunt Genna a look as if she were to blame for this circumstance. “Therefore, if someone approaches you at school, you are to be polite, but not friendly until we can be certain that they are our kind of people. Do you understand?”

The twins chorused, “Yes, Father.”

“Second, while there may be the occasional social gathering with your friends here at the house, these will be arranged with either me or your aunt, and they will not be overnight engagements.” He glanced at Jaime. “And neither of you will spend the night with your friends.”

Cersei shrugged, although Jaime suspected she cared just as much as he did. They both agreed to this condition.

“Third, all of your schoolwork must be done before any sort of activities with your friends. I won’t allow your grades to suffer to improve your social standing.”

They both nodded.

Tywin glanced at Jaime and looked down at the wrist that was well-covered. Self-conscious, Jaime hid his arms behind his back as if that would make the mark go away.

“Finally, Jaime, I informed the school that you will not be able to participate in physical education classes. I told them that you have a problem with your left wrist that prevents you from these activities. Maester Corwyn signed the excuse, so you’ll do extra studying during that time.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest because he loved sports. He relished his visits with his cousins because he got the chance to play baseball, basketball, and soccer. In between times, he played these games with his tutor, although it wasn’t as much fun when it was just the two of them. Sports were one of the few things he and Cersei didn’t do together because she didn’t have much interest in physical activity beyond dance classes.

“I will not take the chance that someone will see that… _thing,_ ” Tywin said before Jaime could respond. “You two will never mention _it_ to anyone, not even in a few years when others get their marks. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” Cersei said excitedly. 

Jaime was slower to respond. What was the point of getting to be like other kids if he still wasn’t like other kids?

“Jaime?” Father peered down his nose at him in a way that made Jaime feel very small. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Jaime said.

Father looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he nodded his head. “You may go.”

Aunt Genna led them out of the room and down the hall to their old nursery, now occupied by Tyrion alone. Cersei gave their tiny brother a cold look as she passed him by, but Jaime tried to look reassuringly at him. Tyrion’s squashed-looking face broke out in a bright smile.

“Jaime!” Tyrion shouted, even though he’d seen his brother not thirty minutes ago. “Guess what?”

“What?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion pulled out a piece of paper he’d held behind his back and presented it to Jaime. Written in a child’s sloppy, overlarge handwriting was “TYRION LOVES JAMIE” in block letters. “Nanny Donyse showed me!”

“That’s great, Tyrion,” Jaime took the paper with a smile. Tyrion was so much smarter than Jaime had been when he was five. He couldn’t help being born with dwarfism, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a chance at as close to a normal life as possible. if Jaime did well at school and didn’t let on about his soulmark, maybe his father wouldn’t leave Tyrion to rot in this house with a tutor as he’d done to Jaime and Cersei.

“Big whoop,” Cersei said, snatching the paper out of Jaime’s hand and tearing it in half, then in half again, before tossing the pieces on the ground. “You misspelled Jaime’s name anyway, you freak.”

“Cersei!” Aunt Genna said sharply. “Apologize to your brother, now.”

Cersei gave Aunt Genna a look that said she’d rather eat glass, but she grudgingly did as she was told. Jaime looked over at his aunt, whose smile had gradually slipped during their time in Father’s office until it was gone completely. She noticed him looking at her and tried to resurrect it to ghastly effect.

Jaime turned back to Tyrion, whose joy at giving Jaime the paper was gone. Jaime crouched down and put an arm around Tyrion’s shoulders. “C’mon, _valonqar._ I’ll help you write it again—and we’ll spell ‘Jaime’ right this time.”

Tyrion’s chin quivered slightly, but the tears in his eyes didn’t fall. “W-what does _v-valonqar_ mean?”

Jaime smiled at him. “It means ‘little brother’ in Valyrian,” he replied.

“That’s me!” Tyrion exclaimed.

“Yep. That’s you.” Jaime ignored his sister’s angry glance and the approving look of his aunt as he led Tyrion back to the desk to try again.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime couldn’t sleep. Jaime had always been a light sleeper, but a year spent as a prisoner, followed by the nightmarish journey back to King’s Landing, meant even the smallest noise could wake Jaime up in the night and keep him awake for hours.

It wasn’t a noise keeping him awake tonight, but the events of the day. He was so sick of all the lies, and it felt as though every day brought new ones to light—his father’s, his own…Cersei’s.

Cersei. __

_Cersei insisted she wanted Jaime and only Jaime, but Robert was dead, there was no risk to them or the children, they had won the bloody war, and_ still _she would not tell their father and the rest of the realm to go to the seven hells and live with him openly. And for what?_

_That fucking iron chair._

_Jaime wished he had one of those dragons Tyrion used to dream about as a boy. Perhaps it would be able to destroy the thrice-damned thing._

__Tyrion. __

_Cersei continued to insist that Tyrion had killed Joffrey, and mocked Jaime for not avenging his death. Cersei had hated Tyrion since their septa had told them that Mother had died giving birth to him. Tyrion hated Cersei with equal fervor. On the face of things, it should be easy to believe him guilty of killing her son._

_Except Tyrion loved Jaime as much as he hated Cersei. And even if Jaime never claimed him, even if he wasn’t sure he even liked the boy, Joffrey was his._

_Tyrion would not have killed_ Jaime’s _son._

_He hadn’t been to see his brother since his return to King’s Landing, and this played on his conscience. Jaime didn’t know if Tyrion had been told that Jaime was alive and home again, and he had done his best not to be noticed at Tyrion’s trial. He had had hopes that Oberyn Martell could defeat the Mountain and Tyrion would be freed, but…_

_Jaime could not allow his brother to die, especially not for something he hadn’t done. Trying to figure out how he was going to accomplish this was yet another thing keeping him awake._

_And then there was the matter of the wench. Stubborn, foolish girl with her ridiculous ideas about honor and keeping oaths. Jaime had debated for a long time what he should do with her. He knew if she stayed much longer in King’s Landing, she eventually would reveal herself as a Northern ally. Cersei would become more suspicious than she already was, and the wench would have been in greater danger than she’d been in when they’d first arrived. There had been no way she could have stayed in King’s Landing, and so he had sent her off to find Sansa Stark._

_She would find Sansa, of that he had no doubt, or die in the attempt. Jaime had provided her with funds, armor, shield and sword, and protection in the form of the letter he’d snuck into a pile of papers for Tommen to stamp with his seal. He wished he could do more, but honestly, he wasn’t sure what more he could have done._

__You could have gone with her. It would have been the right thing to do, as saving Sansa Stark is your last chance for honor. __

_Part of Jaime yearned to do just that. If there was irony in giving Brienne a sword made from Ned Stark’s Ice to protect his daughter, how much more irony would there have been if Jaime had taken up the sword, gone with Brienne, and protected the girl himself? It would almost have been worth it just to be able to hear the Starks rolling in their crypts all the way up there in Winterfell._

_With his eyes closed, Jaime could picture it. He could picture the two of them together, side by side as they had been in that unusual dream he’d had before returning to get her at Harrenhal, wielding their swords together against their foes, him regaining the glory and honor he’d left behind so long ago, her gaining the respect and admiration she deserved from those who mocked her by calling her Beauty without seeing what lay underneath the ugly surface. Of course, if they were to fight together, he would have to improve with his left hand, but even there the wench would have been useful. Jaime could trust her not to tell anyone about his lack of ability, and not to coddle him in training._

_But no. That was foolish thinking. They had made him Lord Commander in his absence and even if he were not, his place was in the Kingsguard with his king. He could not go gallivanting about Westeros as though he were some sort of hedge knight. Besides, all he needed was to look in the place where his right hand should be to remind himself of the foolishness of that sentiment. Still, he could not help the feeling that he was more trapped now in King’s Landing than he had ever been as a prisoner of the Starks._

_As Jaime finally drifted off to sleep, his mind went back to wondering what it would be like to be with Brienne again, freer than he’d ever been in his life, doing whatever he chose…_

~*~*~*~*~*

For most of Jaime’s childhood, Tywin tended not to notice any of his children unless they were doing something wrong. On rare occasions, they merited praise if they did something especially noteworthy, though for Tyrion, that praise never came despite having more accomplishments than his older siblings put together.

After his seventeenth nameday, however, it seemed to Jaime that his father singled him out more. It wasn’t an abrupt change, and unless one knew how to interpret Tywin’s remarks, it might escape notice. But having grown up in that household, Jaime knew what his father meant when he gave him a small nod when he looked at Jaime’s report card and remarked that he was impressed with Jaime’s top marks in economics (the result of many late-night study sessions with Cersei). The following month, Tywin announced that Jaime and Cersei would be joining him on a weekend trip to the Riverlands to meet with Hoster Tully. Jaime was given a pointed introduction to Hoster’s younger daughter, Lysa, who was sweet but dull.

That night, he and Cersei met up in the gardens that surrounded Riverrun, the Tully family estate, and laughed about the idea that had clearly taken root in their father’s mind. Cersei was convinced that their father couldn’t be too serious about the whole thing, but Jaime wasn’t as sure. When he was invited back for another weekend at Riverrun—this time without Cersei—he wished he had an excuse for getting out of it, but as he hadn’t been allowed to participate in sports, he didn’t have an out.

Over the next year, Jaime spent more time with his father and for the first time, he felt as though Tywin valued him. He asked Jaime for his opinions about things and even though he never took Jaime’s advice, usually saying something about Jaime being too softhearted and in need of toughening up, he didn’t look outraged or offended.

Most important of all, Tywin actually _talked_ to him. They talked about what Jaime’s future—where he’d go to school and what he’d do in the company after he graduated. “You have an amazing future ahead of you,” Tywin said. “A lot of important decisions have to be made, but I have confidence in you, Jaime. Confidence that you’ll make the right ones.”

He knew that Cersei envied him this time with their father because she always grilled him on what happened when he came home. Jaime tried to play it down as being boring, full of business meetings that he didn’t understand half of, but she knew he lied. Her green eyes—so like his own—flashed angrily and she wouldn’t speak to him for days at a time.

When he woke up on his eighteenth nameday, Jaime believed his future had slid into place. He’d been accepted to one of the most prestigious business schools in the country. He’d exchanged phone calls with his future roommate, who wasn’t a relative, thank the Seven. His father had even talked about Jaime joining one of the intramural soccer teams, although Jaime wasn’t going to hold his breath on that one.

The day itself was perfect. The family gathered at Casterly Rock, the old Lannister family estate, though for the first time they were joined by non-family members. The temperature wasn’t bad as summer days went, and there was enough of a breeze from the sea that mitigated any discomfort. The adults nibbled on pate on expensive crackers and sipped champagne from delicate crystal flutes. The younger children scampered about the well-manicured lawns playing this game or that. The teenagers, caught between the wistfulness of wishing they could run around with the children and the longing to be considered adult enough to drink the champagne, mostly hung together in clumps between the two groups.

Cersei floated among them all, looking every inch the future socialite her father intended her to be. Her golden hair was pulled into an artful tumble of curls spilling from the crown of her head. Her green eyes flashed with mischief as she flirted with several of their father’s younger business associates and some of his rivals. She somehow managed to snag a glass of champagne and not have her father scold her for drinking it. And every time Jaime looked at her, she gave him a look that he couldn’t quite interpret, but that might’ve been because he was so entranced by how beautiful she looked in the gleaming sunlight.

Jaime stood in the shade for most of the afternoon, because although the temperature wasn’t bad, he hadn’t wanted to tempt fate on this perfect day by wearing the short-sleeved casual wear sported by his cousins. Instead, he wore a thin cotton shirt with long sleeves and tried to think of cold climates in the North.

As the day wore on, the sumptuous meal was consumed. Two cakes were brought out and the assembled guests sang nameday ditties to the twins, and though Father always considered it tacky to have nameday candles, each cake was decorated with nineteen flames that danced in the light breeze.

“Make a wish!” Tyrion yelled after the last nameday song ended. Father glared at him and nodded to the housekeeper, who bustled Tyrion back to where the children were in spite of the fact that no one had wanted to play with him.

Cersei closed her eyes and blew on the candles, extinguishing all of them but one. Jaime hesitated, thinking about Tyrion’s request that he make a wish. Should he wish for more days like this one? That he would do well in college? That he would…

_I wish to meet my soulmate._

Jaime closed his eyes and pictured Brienne. He still dreamed about her sometimes, although he’d long ago stopped thinking she was his soulmate because there was no indication that either of them had a soulmark. Plus, she still treated him like shit in most of their dreams—though to be fair, he returned the favor.

He thought of the nights spent at home alone. Although he’d been allowed time with Father, Cersei had been allowed to spend the night with friends and had even started dating, avenues still blocked to Jaime. He’d watched from the living room window one night as Cersei stood on the doorstep, looking like an angel in the light, kissing some boy or other. He’d felt an overwhelming longing to have someone want to stand with him under a light and kiss him the way Cersei kissed the boys. Sometimes he thought of Brienne, although he’d have to stand on tiptoe to kiss her rather than the other way around if she really was as tall as she was in his dreams.

Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and blew out all the candles on his cake to loud applause. He looked over at Cersei, who leaned over to him and whispered, “Think we’ll both get what we wished for?”

A cloud passed overhead coupled with a stronger breeze made Jaime shiver despite his long sleeves. “I hope so,” he said. “I hope to the gods we do.”

~*~*~*~*~*

That night, Jaime lay in bed with a book he was reading on Ser Duncan the Tall when he heard a tap at his bedroom door. Before he could speak, the door opened slowly and Cersei slipped into the room.

She wore a long white gown that was so thin that little was left to the imagination, even in the dim glow of moonlight. As beautiful as she had been in sunlight, Jaime thought she was even more beautiful now. She closed the door gently behind her and turned to look at him, her green eyes gleaming.

“W-what are you doing here?” he asked softly.

She put a finger to her lips. “Making my wish come true,” she whispered as she glided over to his bed, her filmy gown trailing along behind her, making it seem like she was walking on clouds. Before Jaime could speak again, her mouth was on his, pulling him into a kiss fiercer than anything he’d ever experienced in his awkward fumbling with a couple of the girls at school when the teachers weren’t looking. Part of him rejoiced in this—at last, at long last, he was with someone who knew him, knew _all_ of him, who he didn’t have to hide part of himself from.

But somewhere, deep inside, another part of him knew this shouldn’t be happening. Cersei was his _sister,_ and one didn’t kiss a sister the way he was kissing Cersei. He should stop this. He was going to stop this, any moment now. He would pull away from her, demand to know what she was doing, and—

Cersei’s hands slipped into his pajama pants, groping for him and finding what she sought. As her hands caressed him, all rational thought flew out the window, drowning out the voice inside him that screamed that this was wrong, because her hands on him felt so right and he’d been desperate for someone to touch him for so long. He reached for her, ripping the white gown in his eagerness to see her, to touch her, to be with her…

Jaime hardly slept that night. Every time he dozed off, Cersei whispered about something she’d always wanted to try, accompanied by a caress or a kiss that roused Jaime like nothing ever had before. It was as if she’d known every fantasy he’d ever had and then some, and he said this to her as dawn’s faint light shone through his curtains.

“Of course, I know,” she murmured. “You silly golden fool. We’re one soul in two bodies. I know your thoughts almost before you do, just as you know mine. We were meant to be together.”

Jaime wasn’t sure he agreed with that—when had he ever really known her thoughts—but smiled and kissed her again anyway. She cuddled against his right side, her hand reaching across his chest to trace circles on his left shoulder before sliding down his arm.

“I have dreams sometimes,” Cersei continued. “I dream of us, like we are now. Young and in love. Willing to do whatever it took to be together and damn the consequences. You’re a knight in my dreams. Ser Jaime.” She giggled.

He smiled. “I’m a knight in my dreams, too,” he admitted, but his smile slipped a bit as he thought about the other things he dreams showed him to be—reviled throughout all Westeros, called a kingslayer when he had no memory of why he’d done it but knew he _must_ have had a reason…and Brienne.

Always Brienne, even before she’d been Brienne to him. His dreams of her had not been as frequent as some of his others, but even when she had not been present in person, she’d been with him in spirit.

“There’s only one thing stopping us from living out those dreams,” Cersei said, snuggling closer to him. “We can’t be together with the possibility of someone else thinking she has a claim over you, when we both know you’re mine.”

“Mmm.” Jaime’s eyes drifted shut. “I like the sound of that. I’m yours. And you’re mine too, right?”

“Of course.” Her fingers reached his left wrist and glided over where he knew his soulmark was. “And now that you’re eighteen, you can get this taken care of easily enough. Call Maester Corwyn. You’re a Lannister, so I’m sure he’ll be able to fit you in.”

“Yes,” Jaime murmured. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow.”

“Good boy,” he heard Cersei say as he fell asleep at last.

~*~*~*~*~*

_Jaime awoke the morning after he sent Brienne away to an odd tingling sensation on his right hipbone. He instinctively moved his right hand to scratch at it, remembering too late that there was no right hand to do the job. With a grimace, he opened his eyes and sat up in his narrow bed, the bedsheet falling away. The tingling itchiness wouldn’t go away no matter how much he scratched at it, making Jaime wonder if he had been bitten by some rodent during the night without being aware. He awkwardly undid the laces of his breeches and lowered them enough to see what was causing him grief._

_What he found was a gold sword with a blue hilt._

_Jaime frowned and ran the trembling fingers of his left hand over the mark on his right hipbone. Perhaps his eyes were deceiving him? It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. Those blessed few who got soulmarks got them when they were young, and Jaime had given up hoping long ago that he would be one of them. Not that he truly wanted one, he’d told himself. He and Cersei were one soul in two bodies, so how could either of them have a soulmate when their soulmate was each other?_

_Yet now he was staring at the evidence that they had been wrong. In spite of what was known about soulmarks—when a person got one, who was worthy to have one—he, Jaime Lannister, widely believed to be the most dishonorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, had finally gotten one._

_And the matching mark belonged to the woman he’d just sent away._

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime’s eyes flew open. For a moment he felt disoriented, the lingering remnants of his dream making him think that he was back in that time—that he _was_ Ser Jaime, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, still trying to figure out how the hells he’d ended up with a soulmark.

_A soulmark. I had a soulmark back then, too._

Jaime tried to calculate how old he must have been in his dream. He felt older than he had in any of his previous dreams, so perhaps in his thirties. _And I was just then getting a soulmark?_

Jaime turned to look down at his left wrist with a fond little smile. _So I didn’t get my soulmark until very late, and this time around I was born with it. Why did the gods wait so long to give me a soulmark last time? Was I unworthy of one before that morning? What was it I did that suddenly made me worthy?_

Jaime thought the whole notion of someone being “worthy” of a soulmark was ridiculous, because even then most people got soulmarks when they were very young. How could someone have done something worthy of being considered “worthy” by the age of fifteen? Yet he knew that had been the prevailing wisdom back then.

_Why did the gods give me my soulmark when I was born this time?_ he wondered. _What happened between me and my soulmate that we got a second chance?_

_My soulmate._

Jaime inhaled sharply as he remembered the last thought he’d had in his dream. He recognized the soulmark because he’d seen it on someone else. Even though he, present Jaime, hadn’t dreamed of it, at some point his past self had seen it on Brienne. Which meant that his dreams of her over the years hadn’t been for nothing.

Brienne was his soulmate.

_“We’re one soul in two bodies.”_ Cersei’s words from the night before—early this morning—whenever she’d said it reverberated in his mind. Jaime had a feeling that this wasn’t the first time Cersei had said this to him, and it wasn’t the first time he’d believed it.

Suddenly, that voice he’d drowned out with the kisses and caresses of his sister came roaring back to life. He’d dreamed of Brienne almost as long as he’d been having dreams. Although he’d never seen a soulmark on himself in his dreams until tonight, and he had no memory of ever seeing Brienne’s, his past self _had_ seen it. There was no denying what it meant.

But Cersei said she’d had dreams, too, dreams where they were together. Every so often, he caught a whisper of something in his dreams that told him something like what she’d said, that they had been together in his past. He’d shied away from it before, but now he couldn’t deny the truth of it. His own dream had told him that not only had he been Cersei’s lover in his past life, they’d had at least one child together.

Jaime had never felt so confused in his life. On one hand, he had the mark he’d been born with and the absolute certainty that the ugly woman he’d dreamed of all his life was his soulmate. On the other, he had those whispers of Cersei, who dreamed of him, who believed they belonged together.

_But if the gods wanted me to be with Cersei, why did she not get a matching soulmark? Or rather, why did I get one? And why did I get one right from the start? It has to be Brienne. She has to be the one._

_She_ is _the one._

Cersei stirred at his side, and Jaime felt a knot at the pit of his stomach.

_What have I done?_

Cersei’s right arm tightened around his abdomen as she roused to full wakefulness. “Good morning,” she said with a smug look on her face. “Or is it afternoon?”

“I…” Jaime glanced at the clock across from his bed. Eleven-thirty. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm. We should’ve set an alarm to make sure you’d be able to call Maester Corwyn early.”

“Maester Corwyn?” Jaime felt as though he was underwater, where nothing made sense.

Cersei untangled herself from him and scooted slightly away, raising herself up on her elbows. “Yes, Maester Corwyn. To get that ridiculous mark taken off, remember? You said you were going to take care of it.”

Jaime remembered saying that, earlier this morning. Why had he said that?

_You know why._

Somewhere, he remembered Brienne giving him a scathing look and saying something about how he’d defiled his own sister, but he’d had that dream years ago and hadn’t understood what she’d meant.

Now he did, in more ways than one.

_Is that why the gods didn’t give me a soulmark for so long before? Because of my relationship with Cersei?_

_Dear gods, what have I done?_

“Jaime? What’s the matter?” Cersei sat up fully in bed, the sheet sliding down to pool at her waist, uncovering her breasts. “You’re acting really weird right now.”

“I…I…had a dream,” he said. “It was about this.” He held up his left hand. “I saw it, Cersei. For the first time, I saw myself with the soulmark in my past life.”

“Past life? Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as past lives. There’s only one life— _this_ life—and we’re going to make the most of it.” She smiled at him. “Starting today, when you call Maester Corwyn. I doubt he’ll be able to fit you in now, but you can be his first appointment tomorrow. Then the only thing keeping us from each other will be gone, and we can be together. Always.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed. “You said you had dreams, too,” he said. “You said you dreamed of us together in a former life.”

“I have a lot of dreams, Jaime, but that doesn’t mean they’re from another life. It’s like…my dreams are like one of those ridiculous historical romance novels, full of sex and intrigue. I’m powerful in my dreams, like a queen. But they’re not _real._ Neither are yours.” She laughed. “Next thing you know, you’re going to tell me you dream of your soulmate.”

Jaime felt a chill go through him. “I do,” he said. “I’ve always dreamed of her. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Silly boy. Haven’t you figured it out by now? There’s no such thing as soulmates, not for the likes of us. Soulmates are for fools and dreamers and those who need something to help them get through their day. That’s not us. We’re _Lannisters._ We’re above the need for that kind of nonsense.”

“Then how do you explain _this_?” Jaime shoved his wrist under her nose, as if she didn’t know where his soulmark was.

Cersei grabbed his wrist and lowered it. “The gods made a mistake. It’s as simple as that. You don’t need that, because you have me. And I have you. That’s all we need—each other. And you agreed last night that we belong together, and you were going to get rid of that stupid thing.”

“The gods don’t make mistakes.”

Cersei snorted. “Then how do you explain that our mother died and left nothing behind but that freak calling himself our little brother?”

The chill got worse and Jaime felt himself shake. Was it from cold or anger? “Tyrion was not a mistake,” he said in a low voice. “He didn’t ask to be born with dwarfism. He didn’t ask for Mother to die. I’m sure he would’ve loved having her around to protect him from all the shit you and Father have slung at him over the years.” Though given that Joanna’s death was a large part of the reason for the shit, maybe Tyrion wouldn’t have needed as much protection.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Cersei asked, her nails digging into his wrist. “You have a dream and now you think it’s some sort of sign that we don’t belong together? After everything we’ve been through, how can we not?”

Jaime shook free of her grasp. “You say you don’t believe in soulmates, then you turn around and say we’re one soul in two bodies. You can’t have it both ways, Cersei. There are such things as soulmates. I have one, and she isn’t you.”

Cersei’s hand came up to slap him. Jaime grabbed her wrist before she could. She wriggled free of his grasp.

“You mock my love for you,” Cersei said tearfully. “You…you don’t understand what it’s like, to grow up knowing the other half of your soul believes he belongs to someone else because he got some ridiculous mark when he was born. Even at our closest, there was always a part of you I couldn’t reach because you believed it belonged to someone else. But finally, last night, I thought you understood. I thought you’d put away that foolish idea and realized that we were meant to be together. Now you’re acting like it never happened.” Two little tears trickled down her perfect cheeks.

“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Jaime said. “You’re my _sister,_ Cersei. What we did was…was…” He couldn’t say the word. He didn’t want to think it.

_I have to get out of here._

Cersei’s tearful expression hardened. “Last night was _always_ supposed to happen, you fool. Do you honestly think Father’s accepted that fucking mark? He’s been working for the same thing I have—for you to have it removed. He’s been buttering you up, taking you around to meet his business associates and rivals, bragging about you to people where you can hear him, showing you what you could have, as long as you call Maester Corwyn.” She sneered. “He hasn’t given you the ultimatum yet, but it’s just a matter of time.”

Jaime felt the blood drain from his face. She was right. Of course, she was right. Every little subtle comment about how when Jaime would have important choices to make after he turned eighteen was about removing the mark. Every remark about how important it was to have the right sort of partner in life…Jaime had thought it was Tywin idly hoping Jaime’s soulmate would be like Mother. Every time Tywin talked about how sometimes sacrifices had to be made to be successful in life, Jaime now realized that he’d glanced at his wrist.

“If you think your so-called _soulmate_ is going to understand what we are to each other, think again,” Cersei continued. “She’ll never be a Lannister. She’ll never understand. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner our life together can begin.”

She threw back the covers and got out of bed as Jaime averted his eyes. He could hear her put on the filmy white gown she’d worn into his room and leave, closing the door gently behind her.

Jaime wondered if this was some sort of plan hatched between Cersei and Father to convince him he had no choice but to remove his soulmark. He doubted it, but he couldn’t dismiss it entirely.

_I have to get out of here._

Thank the gods for his mother’s foresight in making Aunt Genna the person in charge of his trust, and for making sure he could access it when he turned eighteen. He didn’t know all the _whys_ of her reasoning, since most of his friends wouldn’t have access to their trust funds until they were twenty-one and some of them even later than that, not to mention the various conditions attached to them. But he had easy access to enough money to disappear.

He wanted to disappear, to no longer be Jaime Lannister. He wanted to do whatever it took to be worthy of the soulmark he’d been born with, to be worthy of the woman who possessed the matching mark, wherever she was right now. If he stayed here, that wouldn’t happen. He’d almost allowed his father and sister to browbeat and seduce him into removing his mark and denying his truth. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that now he saw their attempts to convince him to remove the mark, they wouldn’t be successful. Had he not had the dream last night about getting his soulmark, he knew he would’ve called the maester and had it taken care of. He wondered why Tywin hadn’t had the mark removed long ago, before Jaime would’ve ever noticed it.

Jaime got out of bed, looking at the space where he’d spent so many nights dreaming about his former life. The bed where he’d gone from a boy to a young man.

The bed where he had, to borrow a phrase from Brienne, defiled his sister.

_And betrayed Brienne. You knew, you always knew she was the one. You were afraid to admit it before, telling yourself that because you didn’t see a soulmark that she couldn’t be the one. But you knew. And last night, you betrayed her._

Part of him knew that Cersei was equally to blame for what happened last night, but all he heard was Brienne’s voice, over and over, saying, “You defiled your sister.”

_I don’t deserve her. Not now. Maybe not ever._

Jaime hurriedly got dressed, then grabbed a duffel bag from the back of his closet and began going through his dressers, throwing clothes into it haphazardly. He didn’t pay much attention to what was going into the bag, as he later discovered he’d packed seven pairs of boxers and only one pair of socks. He was tempted not to take anything, to leave everything behind and start fresh, but even in his anguish he had enough sense to realize that he couldn’t do that. He didn’t know how long it would take him to get access to his money. Were there papers he would need to sign? Would he have to go to court or something? He had some money in his checking account, which he would empty out as soon as the bank opened, but it wouldn’t be enough for him to escape forever.

Jaime zipped up the duffel bag and started to open his bedroom door when he realized that he couldn’t just walk out the front door, bag in hand. His father would be at work, but Cersei would be lurking somewhere, thinking she’d won and that he was going to acquiesce to her wishes. Hadn’t he done it almost every other time before? The last thing he wanted was for her to find out what he was doing. If she couldn’t stop him herself, she would contact Tywin. Jaime wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the rest of his family, and for that he would need time.

Jaime closed his door and walked over to the window. His bedroom was on the second floor, which wasn’t _that_ bad a drop. He wondered if he could use his sheets as a rope of some kind but dismissed that. He didn’t have time for that nonsense. He needed to go. He needed to get out.

Jaime opened the window and looked down, thanking the gods that his bedroom overlooked the lawn and not the swimming pool, as Cersei’s—across the house from his room—did. He threw his duffel bag as far out as he could, climbed over the windowsill, and slowly lowered himself until he was just hanging on by his fingertips. He glanced over his shoulder and the ground, thought, _now or never,_ and let go.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can believe it—why wouldn’t the person who’s had a soulmark since birth not dream of his soulmate, obviously if you had that, you’d have the dreams too. I’ve always wanted to know what it was like, knowing who your soulmate was and…”
> 
> “That’s just it. I don’t know who she is, not in this life, anyway. And given how my life’s been going, she probably won’t want to have anything to do with me when we do meet.” Jaime sighed. “I know she’s out there and I have plenty of time still. I just…”
> 
> “You’ve never been known for your patience. Perhaps the gods feel you should learn some before you find her.”

It was easier to disappear than Jaime thought it would be.

He thought twice about emptying out his bank account. His father’s name was on the account as well and Jaime feared they’d contact Tywin if he tried to take it all. He decided to take half, which only gave him eight hundred dragons—not nearly enough to disappear on—and then went to his aunt.

Genna was startled but not entirely surprised when she saw him.

“I should’ve guessed he would try this,” she muttered when Jaime told her about Tywin’s plans. “Your mother kept him from doing it himself, so he decided to push you into doing it on your own. But sweetling, this doesn’t mean you have to leave. You’ve got school coming up, and plenty of money to be completely independent of Tywin if that’s what you want.”

Jaime didn’t want to tell her the rest, didn’t want to see the disgust he felt on her face. “It’s not just Father,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “Cersei…something happened last night, and I can’t undo it, but if I stay here, she’ll…she’ll…” He blinked back tears. “We’ll be at the same school, and…”

Genna gave him a sad look, almost as though she knew what had happened, but she didn’t ask him for details. She wrapped her arms around him. That broke the dam within him, and the tears fell. She patted his back and held him close until he was able to stop crying. As he pulled back, she ran a hand through his hair and gently tugged on his ear before standing up.

“I think I have five thousand dragons in my safe,” she said. “And I might be able to give you another couple of thousand from my bank account without your Uncle Emmon noticing, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to carry that much cash around.” Her eyes brightened. “My numbered account. There are branches of the Iron Bank all over the world, so you’ll be able to access money anywhere you go. I’ll get that information for you and enough money to get you wherever you want to go today.”

Jaime hesitated. “I just wanted a little money to get by,” he said. “I can’t—”

“Then take only what you feel you need. I trust you not to empty my account. When you’ve had a little time to settle down about what happened, come home and you can pay me back from your trust fund.”

 _But what if I never come home?_ Jaime didn’t say that to his aunt, just nodded his head and agreed to her scheme.

Two hours later, Jaime was on a plane to Braavos.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime’s first major expenditure was fake identification. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he didn’t entirely trust that his father wasn’t going to send someone to find him and force him home. He darkened his hair, put on a pair of thick-framed glasses, and didn’t smile for his photo. If he’d had time, he would’ve grown out a beard and mustache, but he didn’t want to wait. He had plenty of time to do those things.

He walked into a counterfeiter’s abode as Jaime Lannister and left it as Jay Hill, feeling freer than he ever had in his life.

Jaime left Braavos immediately after getting the false identification, his destination chosen completely at random. He contacted Genna to let her know that he’d made it safely across the Narrow Sea and that he’d keep up with her when he felt it safe. This resulted in him calling her every few weeks, usually on his last night in one location, to let her know that he was doing fine. Although he never asked after Tywin or Cersei, he worked up the courage six months after his departure to ask her about Tyrion.

“It’s tough on him at home,” she admitted. “He’s doing great academically, and he’s finally got this little circle of friends, but they’re not the kind of kids your father thinks are appropriate for a Lannister to associate with. He’s threatened to homeschool Tyrion if he doesn’t stop hanging around them.” She paused. “He misses you. After the initial furor died down, I told him that you’d been to see me and that you called from time to time. I think he’d like it if you would—”

“How would I do that?” Jaime asked. “If he has any ideas on that, pass them along.”

As it happened, Tyrion did have ideas, and the next time Jaime called Genna, she instructed him to buy a laptop and get a free email account. She gave him an email address that Tyrion had set up for himself. In Tyrion’s first email, he gave him the web address of an anonymous bulletin board he’d set up especially for the two of them to talk, then gave him a date and time. Tyrion walked him through the process of using something he called a VPN, most of which went over Jaime’s head except for the “they won’t know where you’re really at” part. But at the end of it all, Jaime was able to have a genuine conversation with his little brother.

One of the first things Tyrion had written to him was that he didn’t hate Jaime for leaving.

 ** _Hells, I was proud of you for going. I figured you’d fall in line with what Father wanted and get rid of the soulmark,_** Tyrion wrote. **_I actually looked forward to the day when the gods brought your soulmate to you anyway, so that he’d realize that he can’t control everything._**

 _You can still look forward to that,_ Jaime replied.

**_Yeah, but you’ll still have the soulmark so it won’t be the same._ **

Although they only talked once a month, on different days of the week and different times, Jaime felt relieved that he had at least one connection to his old life. A connection that tactfully didn’t mention their sister beyond their first conversation, when Tyrion mentioned that he had seen Cersei come out of Jaime’s room the morning Jaime had left.

**_I know you blame yourself for what happened. Don’t. She always meant to have you to do her bidding. You really have no idea how damned proud I am that you got away even after she made her move._ **

As for their father, Tyrion mentioned him from time to time, usually in oblique ways. Tyrion told Jaime that he’d “cleaned up his act” at school and no longer ran around with his friend Bronn, fearing that if he wound up being homeschooled that his internet access would be heavily restricted. Even though Jaime couldn’t hear his voice, he sensed how lonely Tyrion was and made an effort to email him as often as he could.

One time, he asked Genna why she and Uncle Emmon didn’t offer to take Tyrion into their home. Genna said, “Your father would never permit it. His feelings for your brother are complicated, but Tyrion’s still his son. He’s too proud to let him go.”

When Jaime ended that call, he bought two bottles of wine, went to his rented room, and proceeded to drink both of them. He woke up the following morning with a blistering hangover, which he felt was the least he deserved for deserting his little brother, and moved on to his next destination, wishing he could go back to the sunshine and happiness he’d felt the day of his eighteenth nameday and change everything that happened after.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime spent most of the next three years roaming around the Free Cities. He found that he had an ear for languages and picked up various dialects through his travels. If he never spoke any of them like a native-born speaker, he became fluent enough that he didn’t get cheated on hotel rooms, meals, and so forth. He grew out his hair and eventually let it go back to its natural blond. He grew a shaggy beard and mustache and even though he didn’t need them to see, he kept the glasses. He didn’t throw money around even though he had more than enough of it to spare, preferring to live simply and not draw attention to himself. He had regular contact with his brother and occasional contact with his aunt. There were times when Jaime thought he could live like this for the rest of his life, if need be.

And then came the dream.

~*~*~*~*~*

_Jaime thrust his sword awkwardly into his opponent again and again as he tried to block out his brother’s bitter words to him upon their reunion an hour earlier. He had hoped, when Tyrion had pled his case before the Dragon Queen to convince her to let Jaime live and help with the effort against the Others, that he had forgiven Jaime for what happened with Tysha. It had been too much to hope for, as Tyrion made perfectly clear._

 _“She was an innocent girl who did nothing wrong but love me. And for_ that, _our father decided she must be punished. Loving me was a crime in his eyes because he could not love me himself.” Tyrion’s eyes—black and green—blazed with hatred. “No, Kingslayer. You are here to help, and for that we are thankful. Beyond that, you are not my brother and should we win this war…”_

 _“You should be cautious,_ Imp, _” Jaime replied in a low voice, just as angry as his brother. “When last we met, I was not good with my left hand. I have improved.”_

_Tyrion had waddled off after his queen while Jaime had stomped off to the training yards to take out his frustration as best he knew how._

_“I think your opponent is dead,” he heard a voice behind him say. Jaime whirled around to see the wench watching him, her blue eyes looking serious and calm as ever. “However, were this real battle, you would be dead also as I would have come upon you and run my sword through your back.”_

_Jaime had been so wrapped up in trying to alleviate some of his pain and guilt and anger that he hadn’t heard her approach. “So I would,” he said with a rueful smile._

_She nodded as though she expected no less. “Would you care for an actual opponent?”_

_Jaime shook his head. “In my present state of mind, it would be unwise for me to face anything but straw men.” Though he noticed that there was not much left of the one he’d been striking for the past hour._

_Brienne took a hesitant step closer to him. Jaime watched as her crooked teeth worried her lower lip, thinking to himself that there were a lot of things he wanted—but he knew he couldn’t have them. The past few months with her had been a kind of torture, knowing her to be his soulmate, knowing she would be repulsed by the knowledge._

_“What happened with your brother?” she asked._

_Jaime thought of all the nights he’d spent unburdening his soul to Ser Ilyn Payne, poor dead bastard, and of one night when he’d revealed his deepest secret to Brienne herself. Had it been like the septons had said when he was a child, that to confess one’s sins made the soul feel lighter?_

_Perhaps. But perhaps not, because if he had not revealed this truth to Tyrion, they would not be where they were now._

_Jaime looked at Brienne again, ugly features, hideously scarred cheek, beautiful eyes and all. Part of him yearned to tell her because they were soulmates. The larger part of him knew if he told her, he would give her yet another reason to despise him._

__Perhaps it’s for the best. She could never love someone like you, someone who fucked his sister and sired children on her. __

_Defiled. That had been her word so long ago, spat with such venom that no antidote could heal it completely._

_Unable to look at Brienne, Jaime told her about the crofter’s daughter—the sweet, innocent girl he’d helped save from rape only to deliver her to a nightmare beyond imagining. He told her how he’d convinced himself that Tyrion was merely infatuated with the girl, who was using Tyrion for his gold and his noble name. Finally, he told her of what happened after he told Tyrion the truth, the night he’d released him from the Black Cells._

_“I am needed for now. I have brought both the mighty Lannister army and tactical experience in battle, if not any true skill on the battlefield with my left hand. Were it not for these two things, Tyrion would gladly have fed me to one of the Dragon Queen’s beasts,” Jaime said. “He killed our father, and I can never forgive him for that, but…”_

_“He’s still your brother,” Brienne said. “You still love him.”_

_Jaime nodded. “And he cannot forgive me, nor love me, after what I did. I am forever doomed to love people who cannot love me for one reason or another. I thought Cersei…” The words caught in his throat. Of all the people to talk about in front of his soulmate! “Forgive me, my lady. I should not speak of this.”_

_To his shock, he heard a small huff of laughter. “You were not so shy to talk about her before, ser, and it is not as though the realm is not aware of what you are to her.”_

__“Were.” _Jaime emphasized the word, wanting her to know that he was Cersei’s creature no longer. “She never loved me, not as I loved her. I have spent much time accepting that truth.”_

_“I loved Renly knowing he could never love me the same way,” Brienne said softly. “Not because I knew who he loved, but because he had a soulmark. It did not match mine.”_

_“A golden rose on his upper arm,” Jaime murmured._

_“How did you—”_

_“I saw the mark on someone else.” He glanced at her. “Loras Tyrell.”_

_She blinked and nodded. “I suspected, though I never saw Loras’s mark.” She looked down at the ground. “There are many people in the realm who would say that Renly and Loras loving each other was an abomination, but the gods chose them for each other. How can that be wrong?” She raised her eyes to his. “And if that’s the case, then why should…if you truly loved each other, then why…”_

_Jaime felt something loosen inside of him. Was she saying she understood? Did she not care that he had loved his sister? Could she forgive him that for that, even before she knew they were soulmates?_

_“I don’t love her, not anymore. I did once, I don’t deny that, but things have changed for me and most of it is because I love…”_

_“Ser Jaime! Lady Brienne!”_

_Jaime would gladly have slaughtered the person who had interrupted them, because he knew without a doubt that he’d lost his opportunity to tell Brienne how he felt, and that his feelings had nothing to do with their shared soulmark…_

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime’s dreams of Brienne had dried up after his eighteenth nameday, which he felt was the least he deserved for what he’d done. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d awakened one morning to find that his soulmark had vanished, but it was still there whenever he could bear to look at his left wrist. Despite his dreams of the day when he could wear short-sleeved shirts to show off his mark, the habits of a lifetime—and the fear that the mark could be used to identify him—kept him in long sleeves no matter how hot the weather became.

Instead, Jaime dreamed of other things. Sometimes, he dreamed of Tyrion, usually after their monthly talk. Those were pleasant dreams. Other times, he dreamed of Cersei. Usually, those dreams left him a combination of repulsed and aroused that altogether made him feel guilty. They’d clearly been lovers before, although he wished he could go back in time to his past self and smack him in the head for not realizing sooner just how manipulative and hollow Cersei was.

Bad as those dreams were, the nightmares were worse. Standing outside a bedroom door night after night, listening to a woman’s sobs and pleas for mercy. Watching a man being cooked alive inside his armor while his son strangled himself trying to save him. A voice he heard over and over again screaming, “Burn them all!” And always the same man’s high-pitched laughter, verging on hysteria. On those nights, Jaime usually woke up either to the sound of his own screams or to someone pounding on his door.

But at last, he’d dreamed of Brienne again.

 _Maybe it’s a sign,_ Jaime thought. _Maybe I’m close to meeting her._

Jaime lay in bed, wondering if he was right. Jaime had thought more of her in the past few months, especially when he spotted a tall woman with straw-colored hair, though it was never her. 

Jaime felt a flare of hope for the first time in three years not just because he’d had a dream of her, but what the dream had been about. Brienne from his past life had accepted his past with Cersei. Could Brienne in the present accept what had happened one disastrous night that Jaime wished he could change?

Perhaps she might.

_It’s time._

Jaime got out of bed and went to his dingy bathroom to take a shower. It was all well and good to think that it was time to go home, but there were things he had to take into consideration. His father and Cersei’s reactions, of course. Realistically, any hold they had over him was gone when he turned eighteen, as Genna had tried to explain to him the day he’d left. Cersei could try to blackmail Jaime into removing his soulmark, but he knew she’d never do anything to ruin herself. His father couldn’t withhold money from him, because Jaime had plenty of his own, being carefully tended by Genna except for the small bits she added to the numbered account.

Jaime wouldn’t say that getting away from them had been the wrong thing to do. He had needed the time to work through his guilt about Cersei, and his uncertainty about who he was and what he wanted to do with his life. He still didn’t know about the latter, but the luxury of money meant that he could take his time. Perhaps he would enroll in college and take some courses in…something. He chuckled as he thought that he might be entering college at the same time as Tyrion, which would be a real blast.

Jaime finished showering and stepped out of the shower. As he wrapped a thin towel around his waist, it occurred to him that Tyrion’s nameday was coming up. He went into the bedroom and checked his watch, and he was right. Tyrion would be sixteen the day after tomorrow.

He grinned. He’d make a damned good surprise for Tyrion’s nameday. He reached for his latest disposable cell phone and dialed Genna’s number. Even though she grumbled often that she wished he’d keep the same number so she didn’t have to guess whether the unknown caller was him or some random stranger, and she usually paid him back for this by sending him to voicemail and calling him five minutes later, but she always responded.

To his surprise, she answered on the first ring today.

“Jaime?” she said. “Please say it’s you.”

The urgency in her voice sent Jaime’s stomach churning. “It’s me. What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. “It’s Tyrion. He was in an accident and…”

_Oh gods, you killed him. You weren’t there to protect him and he’s dead and it’s your fault…_

“He’s alive, and they say he’ll live, but he was hurt badly,” Genna said. “I know that whatever happened between you and Cersei was bad, but you need to come home. Tyrion needs you.”

“I’ll be on the first flight home. I’ll…I’ll send you my flight information when I get it and…and if you see Tyrion before I can get there…” He felt dizzy and he realized that he couldn’t breathe. “Tell him I love him and I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

A short pause, and then, as if he had stolen all her hysteria and left her calm, Genna said, “This isn’t your fault, sweetling, any more than Cersei’s actions were your fault.”

Jaime closed his eyes and tried to remember what that Braavosi water dancer had taught him about remaining calm. Genna was babbling in his ear, but Jaime tuned her out as the words came back. He felt the tightness in his chest ease, and he was able to take a deep, cleansing breath.

“I’ll be home soon,” he said softly, and hung up the phone.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime set foot on Westerosi soil for the first time in three years on a cold, dreary autumn afternoon that promised rain later. He wasn’t surprised to see his aunt waiting for him rather than just a driver. To his surprise and relief, she spotted him immediately and hurried over as fast as her very high heels could take her. He opened his arms as she barreled into him.

They stayed that way for a minute. Jaime inhaled the familiar light jasmine scent she always wore and felt at peace despite everything.

“Has there been any change?” Jaime asked.

“He regained consciousness earlier, not long after you called,” she replied. “The doctors are confident that there isn’t any brain damage, but it was bad, Jaime. Come on. I’ll fill you in once we’re on the road.”

Jaime shouldered his duffel bag and said, “I’m ready.”

Genna gave him and his bag a puzzled look. “You don’t have suitcases?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t need them where I was.” Which was true enough a lot of the time, but even when he had been in more civilized places, he’d preferred to live light. A few changes of clothes, assorted toiletries, an MP3 player with plenty of music and audiobooks, and his wallet. What more did he need?

“Good gods,” she murmured. “If I didn’t know with absolute certainty that you were a Lannister, I would question your parentage. Come on.”

“You should try it sometime, Aunt Genna. You’d be surprised how freeing it is.” Jaime followed her out of the airport.

His faint amusement was gone by the time they were on their way to the hospital. Genna gave him what was known—that Tyrion and a friend of his, Bronn Blackwater, had stolen Tywin’s prized Valyrian car and gone joyriding. Both of them had been completely bombed when Tyrion, who had rigged the car to allow him to drive, ran off the road and rammed into a tree. Bronn had escaped with minor injuries, but Tyrion’s had been much more serious.

“He nearly lost an eye,” Genna said. “But worse…he lost most of his nose and there’s going to be some bad facial scarring without major reconstructive surgery.” She glanced at him and then away. “Your father…”

Jaime knew what was coming. “I think you’d better tell me the rest.”

“Your father threatened not to pay for the surgery. He didn’t mean it,” Genna added quickly. “You know how Tywin is. Valyrians are priceless, so of course that’s what Tyrion went for rather than one of the less expensive cars. He said that Tyrion should pay the price for what he’d ruined and…”

“Does Tyrion know this?” Jaime asked. “Has Father been to see him at all?”

“Not yet. Like I said, Tyrion just regained consciousness this morning. I haven’t had time to get your father to see reason, but I will. As furious as he is, Tyrion is still his son and a Lannister. He won’t let Tyrion be permanently disfigured.”

 _Because it’s bad enough that Tyrion has dwarfism,_ Jaime finished what Genna would not say. He was silent the rest of the trip, though Genna tried to engage him in conversation about his travels. The closer they got, the more knots Jaime got in his stomach.

 _Please, gods, let Tyrion be all right,_ he prayed. And just as fervently, he prayed, _and please don’t let Cersei be there. I’m not ready for her. Let me see Tyrion first._

He should have realized, he thought later, that he hadn’t needed to worry about his second prayer not being answered. There was no way Cersei would be anywhere near Tyrion if she could possibly avoid it. That wouldn’t have changed in three years.

Once at the hospital, Genna led the way into Tyrion’s room—private, of course, as befit a Lannister. Once Jaime was in the room, Genna murmured that she would give him time alone with his brother and stepped out.

Jaime slowly walked forward, his feet feeling heavier with each step he took. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at his little brother. Despite his small stature, Tyrion had always been so restless and full of life that it seemed impossible for him to be so still now. One side of his face covered in bandages, the other side bruised and battered.

Tyrion turned his head at the sound of Jaime’s steps. 

“Hey there, _valonqar,_ ” he whispered. 

“Jaime.” Tyrion’s voice was muffled, his mouth partly covered by the dressing. “You’re…you’re here.”

Jaime nodded. “Yeah, I heard you got hurt and came back as fast as I could.” He wanted to bend down and give his brother a hug, but he didn’t want to hurt Tyrion and he wasn’t sure how the gesture would be received. He plopped down into the chair next to the bed.

Tyrion grimaced. “Had to figure out some way to get you home,” he replied. “Didn’t want you missing my nameday.”

“I was coming back,” Jaime said quickly. “I’d decided…” Gods, had it been just this morning when he’d decided to come home? It felt a lifetime ago. “I remembered your nameday was coming and I was going to surprise you.”

“Got the jump on you there, then.” Tyrion took a few halting breaths. “So you didn’t get my email.”

Jaime frowned. He usually only checked his email once a week, as he and Tyrion arranged their monthly meetings on their bulletin board. “No. What happened?”

Tyrion’s world-weary expression would’ve been more appropriate on a man of sixty rather than a boy of sixteen. “I got a soulmark two days ago.”

“Oh,” Jaime said quietly. That hadn’t been what he’d expected to hear.

“Yeah. _Oh._ Father already hates me enough, but at least he’s been able to cling to the hope that I might be able to benefit the family through an ‘alliance,’ as he calls it. Now he won’t even have that. I know how Father’s been about yours and…and I’m not you. He might forgive you for having one, but not me.” Tyrion’s’ voice turned bitter. “Never me.”

Having been born with his soulmark, Jaime could only imagine what Tyrion had felt when he’d awakened with his. “Father’s never forgiven me for having one,” Jaime said. “As though either of us could help it. Where’s yours?”

“My right foot.”

Jaime grasped the blanket covering his brother’s body and lifted it enough to see. Tyrion’s soulmark was an open red book with gold pages fanned out as though blown by the wind. It was beautiful and suited Tyrion perfectly.

“I saw it in the shower, and I knew. I knew the minute he saw it, that would be it. My worth to the Lannister family would be gone forever. So, I figured, why bother waiting for him to see it? Why not go out on my own terms and fuck him over at the same time? It wasn’t hard for me to convince Bronn to get drunk and steal the car. It was a little harder to convince him to get out and let me finish my plan.” Tyrion blinked back a tear. “He chickened out. The son of a whore got injured prying me out of there.”

Jaime dropped his head into his hands. The shame he’d felt about what happened with Cersei was nothing compared to the shame he felt about leaving Tyrion to deal with this alone. If he’d been here, he could’ve talked to Tyrion about it, and they could’ve gone to Father together, a united front. Instead, he’d left, and Tyrion had been so terrified of what their father would think that he’d nearly died as a result.

“Do not blame yourself for this, Jaime,” Tyrion said fiercely. “I made this choice and it had nothing to do with you.”

“The hells it didn’t,” Jaime said. “You saw what my life was like because of my soulmark. You knew how much worse it would be for you. If I’d been here…”

“Who’s to say what you would’ve become if you’d stayed? You wanted to please Father and Cersei so much that you would’ve removed the soulmark. You would’ve encouraged me to do the same. You might even have offered to pay for me to get mine removed before they could ever find out about it.”

Jaime knew he was right. He could see himself doing all of it, trying to make Tyrion feel the same way he’d been made to feel about his soulmark. And he would’ve hated himself all the while.

“What happens now?” Jaime asked brokenly.

“Well,” Tyrion drawled, “I figure that Father’s going to have me charged with stealing the car. He’ll buy off the prosecutors to give me the maximum sentence. I’ll probably go to The Wall for a year or two. After that, I’ll be eighteen and I’ll do exactly what you did. Take Mother’s money and run as far from Tywin Lannister as I can get.”

“Not gonna happen.” Jaime took Tyrion’s hand in one of his. “For one thing, there’s no way he’ll ever allow a Lannister to go to jail. Remember what he did for Daven when he got caught selling marijuana to the undercover cop? He’ll chalk up your accident to teenaged boy hijinks, joke about it with his friends at the club, and seethe in private.”

“Where he, along with Cersei, will make my life a living hell. I’d rather go to The Wall.”

“I won’t let that happen.” At Tyrion’s skeptical look, Jaime said, “I mean it! I’ll…I’ll think of something.” But even he heard the doubt in his voice.

“The only thing you could do to make them forget about me is to come home for good, get rid of the soulmark, and line up to marry whatever birdbrain will benefit the family the most. I won’t let you do that.”

That had been exactly what Jaime had been thinking. He smiled wryly. “Aunt Genna told me that Mother took pictures of my soulmark when I was a kid, in case something happened to it. I could take updated pictures of me today with the mark. Then, when my soulmate comes along, I can show her the pictures as proof.”

“You’ll still be married to the birdbrain, and you know the prenup will be airtight,” Tyrion pointed out. “No. What’s the cliché? I did the crime, so I’ll do the time. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.” He gave a ghastly half-smile. “But thank you. It means a lot that you’d be willing to do it.”

The brothers sat in silence for a few minutes. Jaime kept trying to think of another solution, but nothing came to mind.

“Jaime?”

Jolted out of his thoughts, Jaime looked at Tyrion. “Yeah?”

“What am I going to do about the mark?”

Jaime frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tears gleamed in Tyrion’s unbandaged eye. “I was already enough of a freak. Now I’m more than a freak, I’m…I’m a grotesque. What if my soulmate meets me and…and…” The tears fell. “There are stories where soulmates meet, and one is repelled by the other. When I saw the mark, I thought about that happening to me, you know? Then I thought that she’d only want to be with me because I was a Lannister and she lucked into being my soulmate.”

Which, Jaime realized, was the other part of the reason why Tyrion had attempted suicide. “First, stop thinking of yourself as a freak or a grotesque. You’re neither. Second, if you think Father won’t spend as much money as it takes to repair your face, you’re wrong. As pissed as he is, you’re a Lannister and he won’t let people mock you. And if he doesn’t do it, I will. Third, I don’t think soulmates work that way.”

“But how will I know she’ll love me because of me and not because the gods picked me for her?”

Jaime thought of everything he’d learned over the years about soulmates. “I don’t presume to know what the gods think when they choose soulmates. Maybe they bring people together who might not realize how good they could be for each other. Or they know that someone out there will love you for who you are and not for what you look like.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Ser Warrior Incarnate.”

Jaime took Tyrion’s hand in his. He hesitated before asking, “Have you ever seen her? In your dreams?”

Tyrion looked puzzled. “No. People don’t really do that unless they’ve been soulmates in another life. Why do you ask?” Before Jaime could answer, Tyrion’s eye widened in shock. “You dream of yours?”

Jaime nodded. “I’ve dreamed of her since I could remember. I don’t dream of her every night, and I didn’t dream of her for a long time after Cersei. But yeah, I do.” 

Tyrion tried to sit up, groaned in pain, and sat back again. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can believe it—why wouldn’t the person who’s had a soulmark since birth not dream of his soulmate, obviously if you had that, you’d have the dreams too. I’ve always wanted to know what it was like, knowing who your soulmate was and…”

“That’s just it. I don’t know who she is, not in this life, anyway. And given how my life’s been going, she probably won’t want to have anything to do with me when we do meet.” Jaime sighed. “I know she’s out there and I have plenty of time still. I just…”

“You’ve never been known for your patience. Perhaps the gods feel you should learn some before you find her.”

Jaime gave him a dirty look. “Thanks, little brother.”

“What’s she like?” Tyrion asked. “Beautiful and sweet?”

Jaime grinned. “If she looks now as she did then, she’s the ugliest woman in Westeros. I don’t think I could begin to describe her in a way that you’d believe, but that’s the truth.” Jaime released Tyrion’s hand and sat back in his chair. “The ugliest woman with the most amazing eyes. Round and so blue they rival the sapphire pendant in the family jewel vault. As for sweet, she’s the most stubborn, pigheaded woman I’ve ever not met. Determined. Calm in a crisis. Strong—stronger than me, or rather, stronger than I was then. Taller than me. Noble. Loyal to a fault.”

“So the exact opposite of every Lannister in recorded history,” Tyrion concluded. “When she turns up in this lifetime, take her and run away again. Cersei will make mincemeat out of someone like her.”

“Cersei.” Jaime looked at his hands. “Where is she now?”

“Final year of school at the Citadel. She’s getting her degree in business, which I think Father allowed only because he couldn’t find you.”

“She always wanted to have a role in the family business beyond looking pretty and attracting a husband,” Jaime murmured.

“Well, she’s doing a good job at both. She’s engaged to Robert Baratheon.” At Jaime’s blank look, Tyrion added, “Heir to a shipping fortune from Storm’s End, Father-approved mate, and so on. They’re getting married the week after she graduates from college next year.” 

Jaime let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He’d had this ridiculous fear that Cersei might be lying in wait for him to return one day. He should have known better, but it was still good to hear that she wouldn’t be trying to lure him back into her arms.

“It’s good to have you home, _lekia,_ ” Tyrion said, sounding drowsy. “Don’t stay away so long next time, okay?”

Jaime watched as Tyrion’s eyes closed. “I won’t,” Jaime promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Tyrion was resting quietly when their father turned up less than an hour later. From the shock on his face when he saw Jaime sitting at Tyrion’s bedside, Jaime figured one of the hospital staff had clued Tywin in to his presence without realizing who he was. Jaime wondered if this was the first time Tywin Lannister had been surprised by anything.

Tywin recovered quickly, his expression shifting to one Jaime remembered so well from his first seventeen years: disapproval with a hint of disdain.

“About time you turned up,” he said. He gave Jaime a coolly assessing look, taking in the long, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, the facial hair, the inexpensive long-sleeved shirt tucked into faded jeans. “Where the hells have you been?”

“Tell me how far your dogs tracked me before you lost the scent,” Jaime replied.

His father’s eyebrows shot up, but this time Jaime got the sense that he was impressed. Tywin recounted Jaime’s movements until he reached Braavos, even guessing correctly that Jaime had gone to Genna to borrow money. “You went to a counterfeiter, who provided you with false identification in the name of Jon Snow—and after that, you completely disappeared. No matter how many Jon Snows we tracked down, none of them were you,” Tywin concluded.

Jaime somehow maintained his composure. He supposed a counterfeiter who gave up his clients’ identities at the drop of a hat would be out of business soon enough. Jaime felt it only right to return the favor and not let his father know that he’d been lied to.

“I was exploring the world,” Jaime replied, surprising himself by his flippancy. “Figured I might as well see it for myself, given how restricted I was before then.”

“You were about to get the opportunity to see the world. You were going to college, you were—”

“But only if I got rid of the mark, right?” Jaime interrupted. “That’s what everything was leading to, me making the choice to get rid of my soulmark. Then I’d be the perfect son you always wanted.”

His father gave him a look of disgust. “You have too much of your mother in you. She never understood why that mark would be a nuisance, and clearly you don’t, either.”

“To you and your plans, I’m sure it is. But the gods have someone in mind for me and you can’t change that, no matter how much you try.” Jaime looked to Tyrion in the bed. “Some things in life can’t be planned, but plans can be altered when circumstances arise.”

“Circumstances?”

“Yes.” Jaime placed a hand on Tyrion’s shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and turned to face his father. “I’m willing to come home for good. I’m sure you can pull enough strings to get me into college now despite the fall term being underway. I’ll get a damned business degree and come work for you when I’m done.”

Tywin didn’t bat an eyelash, but Jaime knew his father was intrigued. “In exchange for what?”

“You don’t make any attempt to coerce me into removing my soulmark. You don’t pester me to date someone because it would be good for business, because it’s pointless and I’ll say that to every single woman you throw in my path. You’ll hate my soulmate. I’m not stupid enough to think you won’t because she won’t bring anything to the family but herself. But when I find her, you’ll treat her with respect and as much courtesy as you can manage.”

Jaime paused and steeled himself for what he needed to say next. “Whatever plans you have for Cersei don’t get changed because I’m back. She’s smart and she deserves the chance to be part of the business.” Jaime wanted to add that he wanted as little to do with her as possible, but he knew her strengths and what Tywin was likely to have her doing, and there was little chance they would interact often.

“Finally, you will not send Tyrion away, whether to The Wall or a boarding school. Ground him until he’s eighteen for what he did, make him pay for the Valyrian as soon as he has access to his trust fund, but he stays here until he finishes school. Since you’ll have the best chance of getting me enrolled at Lannisport U, I’ll be around to keep him in line.” Jaime wanted to add that there was no point in Tywin trying to arrange a match for Tyrion, but the secret of Tyrion’s soulmark was not his to tell. “Those are my terms.”

“Done.” Tywin didn’t smile, but he looked extremely satisfied and Jaime had the feeling he’d just sold his soul to the Stranger. “Welcome home, son.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been almost five years since his twenty-fifth nameday. Jaime had moved to King’s Landing after finishing his graduate work in business and into the position that had been waiting for him in the Lannister Corporation. Tywin was thrilled that Jaime kept his word and worked hard for the business, even if he was less than thrilled that Jaime refused to see reason about “the soulmate nonsense.”
> 
> Jaime did not share his speculation about Brienne’s absence with his father, and the more time that passed, the more he became convinced that he was waiting for Brienne to grow up. He figured that she was probably just getting her soulmark now, unless she had also gotten hers when she’d been born. He hoped she hadn’t, because he knew kids would be more brutal to her because of how she looked. He wondered if she would show everyone she had the mark when she got it, to prove to them that there was someone out there for her.

There were many days when Jaime regretted the bargain he’d made with his father—usually when he was slogging through yet another class he had no interest in, or on the rare occasions that his path crossed Cersei’s and she got that predatory gleam in her eyes that brought him back so viscerally to the night of their eighteenth nameday—but whenever those days happened, he remembered the look on Tyrion’s face when Jaime informed him that he was back for good. Jaime brushed aside Tyrion’s insistence that he couldn’t let Jaime do that for him.

“What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t stick around to make sure you didn’t do anything else stupid?” Jaime asked, the echo of an event he didn’t quite remember about a time when he hadn’t done that in his former life sending a pang of guilt through him. “Besides, you might not be so happy that I did this when you’re stuck at home on weekends when all your friends are running around having fun.”

“You’ll be there,” Tyrion said quietly. “I don’t give a damn about anyone else.”

Despite Tyrion’s fears that Jaime would completely cave to Tywin’s wishes, Jaime knew he’d become stronger in those three years he’d been gone. He had left behind the Lannister name, influence, and great wealth and thrived. If Tywin pushed him too far, Jaime could leave it all behind again, and they both knew it.

Tywin made sure never to push him too far. The closest he came was just after Jaime’s twenty-fifth nameday had passed with no sign of Brienne. Jaime had hoped it would happen, had been convinced that the dream he’d had the night before he’d returned to Westeros had been a sign, but then nothing happened. Just as in his wanderings through Essos, Jaime occasionally saw someone who might have Brienne’s height, or her hair, and a couple of times he saw someone whose body reminded him of hers. But none of them had her eyes.

The night of his nameday, Jaime took Tyrion barhopping in King’s Landing. Jaime didn’t admit to Tyrion that he believed he would meet Brienne that night, having had another dream where she’d told him she understood about him and Cersei. But as bar after bar went by without her in it, his hopes dimmed. Tyrion’s friend Bronn, who Tyrion had long forgiven for saving his life, hauled him out of the last bar just before Jaime could wager the family’s priceless antique sword, Widow’s Wail, in a pool game against some hulking guy called the Hound.

A couple of days later, Tywin had sent him a text message telling him he would be in Lannisport in two days for a business dinner and expected Jaime to be there. Jaime hadn’t been too surprised to find that the business dinner was with Hoster Tully, whose daughter Lysa just _happened_ to be in town.

He’d been tempted to walk out of the restaurant the minute he saw who was there, but Jaime didn’t want to hurt Lysa’s feelings because this wasn’t her fault. Besides, the restaurant served amazing food. He ordered the most expensive meal on the menu, accompanied by two bottles of a rare Dornish red. He spent most of the meal talking to Hoster about his brother Brynden, who had broken off from the Tully family business to do his own thing, and giving Tywin pointed looks.

Jaime fell into a bit of a depression after his nameday. He’d been so sure that he would meet her by now and the fact that he hadn’t only made him wonder if the gods were playing a trick on him by making him think he had a soulmate. It wasn’t until he began piecing together the timeline of his former life searching for a clue as to when they would finally meet that he realized something. As best he could tell, he hadn’t gotten his soulmark until he was somewhere in his thirties. In his dreams, Brienne looked young—maybe just out of her teens. He began to think there was a real possibility that the age difference would remain the same now, which meant that Brienne was just a kid. At best, he had another eight to ten years before they would be reunited.

It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

~*~*~*~*~*

**Tyrion:** You’re late.

 **Me:** Why the rush? Don’t you always say parties don’t start till you get there?

**Tyrion:** Because there’s a beguiling brunette I’ve been dying to talk to for a while, and she invited me especially.

**Me:** And?

**Tyrion:** If I don’t get there early, Margaery’ll be taken.

**Me:** You make it sound like she’s the only woman who will be at this party.

**Tyrion:** She’ll be the woman with the nicest tits, that’s for sure. 

**Me:** We need to talk about this attitude you have about women.

**Tyrion:** What? She doesn’t have a soulmark, so what’s the harm? You trying to tell me you’ve been a septon all these years, even after the magic nameday passed and she didn’t turn up?

**Me:** …

Jaime tossed his phone aside as the light turned green. Tyrion would laugh his ass off if Jaime admitted that he had been all but a septon since his eighteenth nameday, minus that one night a couple of years ago when he’d been on a business trip in Oldtown. The experience had been regrettable and only mildly pleasant, and the woman had gotten very upset with him calling out for Brienne when he came.

It had been almost five years since his twenty-fifth nameday. Jaime had moved to King’s Landing after finishing his graduate work in business and into the position that had been waiting for him in the Lannister Corporation. Tywin was thrilled that Jaime kept his word and worked hard for the business, even if he was less than thrilled that Jaime refused to see reason about “the soulmate nonsense.”

Jaime did not share his speculation about Brienne’s absence with his father, and the more time that passed, the more he became convinced that he was waiting for Brienne to grow up. He figured that she was probably just getting her soulmark now, unless she had also gotten hers when she’d been born. He hoped she hadn’t, because he knew kids would be more brutal to her because of how she looked. He wondered if she would show everyone she had the mark when she got it, to prove to them that there was someone out there for her. 

_Hang in there, wench,_ he thought. _We’ll be together eventually._

Though it wouldn’t be tonight.

Tyrion acknowledged that Jaime might be right about the age difference being the reason Brienne hadn’t turned up, but he insisted that this didn’t mean Jaime couldn’t have a little fun before she did. Jaime would just as soon stay home, but Tyrion knew the key was to mutter something about how he was turning into Tywin. No matter how many times Jaime swore he wasn’t going to be goaded by that insinuation, it worked.

Although this time Tyrion added on the extra weight of the occasion: some poor woman’s twenty-fifth nameday had arrived, but her soulmate had not. Tyrion argued that since Jaime knew how that felt, he could go to the party her friends were throwing for her and help her feel a little better about the situation.

“How, by comparing sob stories about how much it sucks to be stuck with a mark no one’s claimed?” Jaime muttered, but he agreed, nonetheless. And now he was on his way to pick Tyrion up at some “hovel with potential” near Flea Bottom that his brother was thinking of purchasing.

Jaime’s phone rang, and he pushed a button to activate the Bluetooth in his car. “I’m almost there,” he said. “We have plenty of time. You said this party didn’t start until seven, right?” He glanced at his watch. It was just past five-thirty.

“Yeah, but we need to stop at a liquor store to get a good bottle of wine.”

“I can stop somewhere and get you something.” The stoplight up ahead went from green to yellow. He was tempted to speed up to make it through, but decided it was too risky. Jaime slowed down.

“Gods, no. You always think that price has something to do with quality. Besides, I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard. I need something nice but not pretentious.”

Jaime drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. At the rate he was going in this traffic, they might be lucky to get there before the party ended. “Isn’t Margaery one of the Tyrells from the Reach? A good Arbor Gold should do.”

Tyrion scoffed. “Margaery’s more adventurous than that. I need something exotic.”

Jaime thought on this a moment. “Tyroshi brandy,” he suggested. “It’s something different from the usual wine she’d expect. Shows you to be a man of sophistication.”

“Hmm.” Jaime grinned as his brother pretended to think about this. “Maybe you’re not as hopeless when it comes to alcohol after all.”

“Just for that, I’m not going to tell you what brand the natives drink. You’ll have to buy the horse piss they sell to the tourists.” Jaime glanced up at the stoplight—was it his imagination, or was it taking forever to change?

“I take it back. You know what the good stuff is, go ahead and stop somewhere to get it.”

“To get the _real_ good stuff, you’d have to go to Tyrosh, but I’m sure I can find something.” The light finally changed, and Jaime accelerated.

Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw the car barrel through the intersection, blowing past the red light just before it smashed into him, sending his car into a tailspin. He never saw whatever hit him next, only heard the second impact and felt a searing pain all along his right side before he passed out.

~*~*~*~*~*

_In the weeks following their capture by the Brave Companions, Jaime’s life was a haze of pain, humiliation, and the ever-present belief he was going to die. There were times when the pain and humiliation made him welcome death, but whenever he had thoughts Brienne was there, telling him to live, fight, and take revenge no matter how much he might wish otherwise._

_Sometimes, Brienne asked him to talk about his life before the War began. They had to take care that none of the Brave Companions heard them talking, for that was a sure way to earn another beating and more pain, but he almost always complied with her request. Jaime thought it passing odd that Brienne had spent so much of their trip before being captured trying to get him to shut up, and now she wanted him to talk._

_One night, when the others were particularly raucous and Jaime knew he needed to stay alert so that no harm would come to the wench, he talked about his brother. In the dim glow of the small fire left for them to keep warm, he noticed the wistful expression on her face as he told her about the small things he did for him, like training a horse especially so that Tyrion would be able to ride without being embarrassed, and bringing him toys from some of the places he traveled with the King._

_“His favorite toy was this wooden lion I brought him from…gods, I don’t remember where,” Jaime said. “His septa said that Tyrion wouldn’t let it out of his sight for months. He named it Gerion, after our favorite uncle.” He smiled. “Gerion laughed so hard when he heard that he nearly had a fit.”_

_“You truly love him,” Brienne said softly._

_“Of course,” Jaime replied. “He’s my brother. I’ve always…always watched out for him.”_ Except once. One time, I did not watch out for him, and I have always regretted it.

_“I had…” she hesitated, biting her already swollen lower lip. “I had a brother once.”_

_Jaime heard the pain in that statement and remembered her saying, early in their acquaintance, that she was her father’s only child. “What happened?” he asked._

_“He drowned when I was four,” she whispered. “Goodwin, our Master of Arms, once told me that Galladon swam out too far one day and wasn’t able to get back. I…I don’t remember much about him. He was big, but I suppose I thought that because I was so young. He gave me my first sword not long before he died.” She smiled—a hideous smile that revealed her crooked teeth. “This little wooden thing that had been his when he was my age, but I kept it long after I moved on to more advanced swordplay.” He saw tears in her eyes. “I kept it in a little chest in my room along with a few other things I considered valuable. I wonder if…if I’ll ever see it again.”_

_She sounded despondent, and Jaime looked over at her—really looked. To say that he was the worse off of the two of them was an understatement, but she was not doing much better. She was a hale, hearty wench, but she’d taken her share of beatings over the past couple of weeks. She’d lost two teeth in the initial skirmish with these bastards, and there was little on her face that was not in some stage or other of bruising. She moved slowly when they walked, and he remembered that she had been shot with an arrow in the back of her leg even before their sword fight._

_She had told him to live, fight, and take revenge. She had maintained all through this journey that she was determined to see him safely to King’s Landing. And now she sounded like she might be giving up._

_“Cheer up, wench,” he whispered. “You’ll be back on that gods-awful rock you call your home, using your sword to keep the…the mermaids away from the sheep.”_

_She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think your fever’s getting worse,” she hissed. “We don’t have mermaids.”_

_“Don’t you? Shame, really. I hear they go about without any clothes at all.”_

_Brienne shook her head and turned her back to him, and Jaime tried to focus on his memories of Casterly Rock and Tyrion…and Cersei, but without much success, as the pain, never truly gone, came rushing back._

~*~*~*~*~*

It was funny how something that was gone could hurt so much.

Tyrion told him what happened when he was first lucid—his right side had been seriously damaged in the crash, his right hand crushed beyond repair, and there had been no choice but to amputate it at the wrist. Tyrion apologized, as though he’d had a choice in the matter. It was either lose the hand or lose his life, and although there were a lot of moments when Jaime wished for the latter, he knew from past experience that he could survive without his hand.

Somehow, he believed he should’ve seen it coming, and yet he hadn’t.

Jaime had been in the hospital for two weeks, drifting in and out of awareness if not consciousness, catching snippets of information that didn’t make much sense. Tywin, the familiar look of disapproval and disappointment on his face, saying that he’d make sure Jaime got the best care available. Tyrion, talking about prosthetics that looked so much like actual hands that people couldn’t tell the difference. Cersei, drifting in with a smug look in her eyes. Nurses and doctors and other people he didn’t know. Tyrion mentioning something about a pretty, dark-haired occupational therapist that he intended to arrange to work with Jaime. He seemed more interested in her looks than about her abilities. Tywin and Tyrion arguing about…something.

“…I’m not putting your brother’s recovery into the hands of some woman simply because you have a crush. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve contacted Maester Corwyn, who—”

“That quack? I’d trust Qyburn himself before I’d trust anyone he recommended. Everyone I’ve talked to says that Tysha Croft is the finest occupational therapist in the city.”

“She’s too young.”

“And too female? Screw that. You can send whoever you like, but you’ll be wasting their time. I want Tysha. Jaime wants Tysha, too, don’t you, Jaime?”

“Sure,” Jaime mumbled, though part of his mind awakened at the mention of the name. Tysha…why did that sound so familiar? Maybe he’d remember someday…

~*~*~*~*~*

Tysha Croft was petite, with dark hair pulled back into a loose bun at the top of her head and blue eyes that could go from giving him a stern look to something so soft when she looked at Tyrion that Jaime almost got whiplash. When his sessions first started, Tysha insisted on keeping everything professional with Tyrion. Within two weeks, she found excuses to stay later than she should to talk to him. When she moved Jaime to her last appointment of the day, Jaime asked Tyrion while they waited for her to arrive, “Do you think you should tell her about your soulmark?”

Tyrion shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I only have a few more weeks before I turn twenty-five, and she’s not coming. Looks like it’s the fate of the Lannister brothers to get soulmarks without soulmates to go along with them.” He looked sad for a second, then his expression cheered. “And I’m fine with that. In fact, I’d rather she not show up at all because I can’t imagine loving anyone quite like I do Tysha.”

“Love?” Jaime exclaimed. “You’ve known her what, a month, maybe a little more? How can you be so sure that it’s…”

_“She loves me, Jaime. I know she loves me. She told me—”_

_“It wasn’t real, Tyrion. Whatever she said she felt for you, it wasn’t the truth. I bought her for you because I thought it was time you had a woman. I didn’t think you’d marry the girl.” Jaime had rehearsed his words several times before confronting Tyrion, because his little brother was sharp and could sense lies better than Jaime could wield a sword._

_“But she said…she said she was a crofter’s daughter, and those outlaws…”_

_Jaime sighed and put his arm around him. “She’s a crofter’s daughter, that much is true. But her father is dead and she was looking for an easy way to make a few coins. I had heard of her plight and thought she would appreciate someone who would be gentle with her for her first time. There were no outlaws, just smallfolk I hired for the purpose. I left you behind with her to pay for their services.” With every word he spoke, Jaime saw the hope and light die in Tyrion’s eyes. “None of it was real…”_

“JAIME!”

He blinked several times. When he was able to focus again, Tyrion and Tysha were both there. Tyrion looked terrified; Tysha confused.

“I…” Jaime wasn’t sure what to say.

“I think he’s back with us,” Tysha said. “You don’t know what caused this?”

“No. One minute we’re talking about, uh, well, we were talking, and the next thing I know, he’s catatonic.”

“I think you should take him to a doctor. He may need an MRI or CT scan. Just because there was nothing wrong with him right after the accident doesn’t mean—”

Jaime stared at her and realized what had happened. He’d just had a memory of his past life while fully conscious. Or maybe semiconscious, since it sounded like he’d gone into some kind of trance.

More importantly, he had a strong suspicion he knew what his dream meant. As the last of the cobwebs cleared from his mind, Jaime said, “Tyrion, tell Tysha about your soulmark.”

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes widened in shock and fury. “What? Jaime, what are you doing?”

“I want you to tell Tysha about your soulmark.”

“You godsdamned son of a whore!” Tyrion shouted.

“On behalf of our mother, I resent that,” Jaime quipped. “Now listen—”

“What, are you so jealous of the fact that your soulmate never showed up that you have to go and ruin my chance at happiness? Maybe Tysha’s not my soulmate—I don’t _care_ about that. I love her anyway, and now you’re…”

Tysha backed away from them, and at first Jaime thought maybe he’d been wrong. He was about to apologize when she toed off her right sneaker, bent down, and pulled off her sock. Tears were in her eyes as she straightened up and extended her foot into the light, where the red book with the gold-tipped pages was visible on the top.

Tyrion let out a soft, “Oh.” He raised his eyes to hers as he moved to take off the four-hundred-dragon shoe he had custom-made, followed by a trouser sock, exposing his own mark to her.

Tysha sniffled. “I…I hoped it was you,” she whispered. “I had this feeling, but I told myself that I was imagining things. I’d given up hope because I turned twenty-five last year and he didn’t come.”

“I was going to tell you after my nameday because I didn’t care that it wasn’t you, only it was you. It _is_ you.”

Tyrion and Tysha eloped a week later, not even telling Jaime what they were planning before Tyrion texted Jaime from Sunspear. Jaime couldn’t blame them even though they didn’t know what he’d done to them before. Tyrion would later apologize and explain that while they would’ve loved to have Jaime come with them, they were concerned that he might do something to mess up his recovery.

Jaime also figured they didn’t want him being the third wheel on their brief honeymoon, not to mention that he wasn’t exactly in any frame of mind to be out in public, but he refrained from saying that. Instead, he watched the live stream of the ceremony that Tyrion had thoughtfully send him the link to and tried not to feel envious that Tyrion’s soulmate had come along when Jaime was stuck waiting forever.

Tywin was furious, of course. Tyrion had never told him about his soulmark, so when Tywin’s initial thought had been to figure out a way to buy Tysha off, Tyrion had gleefully told him there was nothing he could possibly offer her. Jaime kept a close eye on his father for a few months after the wedding, just to make sure that nothing happened to them. Outside of arranging for Tysha to lose her job with the hospital and making sure she was blacklisted all throughout King’s Landing, and doing much the same with Tyrion, Tywin left the couple alone. Jaime felt safe in the knowledge that this time, nothing was going to tear them apart. He didn’t know if they had been soulmates in their previous life, although he doubted it as Tyrion hadn’t had dreams about her as Jaime had had about Brienne, but the gods finally decided to give Tyrion Lannister— _this_ Tyrion, at any rate—a break.

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime’s recovery from his amputation was long and difficult. He eventually adjusted to having a prosthesis at the end of his right arm, but he felt so self-conscious about it that he retreated from public life entirely for three years after his accident. He resigned his position at the Lannister Corporation, to Tywin’s horror, but didn’t feel any of the relief he’d always thought he would when he walked out of the building.

He didn’t feel much about anything. He sat at home and stared at the television day after day, not knowing or caring what was on. He showered whenever he got sick of the smell of himself. He sometimes ordered takeout, but most of the time he settled for sandwiches of whatever lunchmeat he’d ordered from the grocery store down the block—it had been a blessing from the gods when he’d found out they delivered. He hired a cleaning service that came by weekly when he was at Tyrion and Tysha’s for a meal—the only sort of social life he had during that time. 

Jaime ignored the fear in Tyrion’s eyes whenever he came over. He ignored the slips of paper he found in his jacket pocket from Tysha, with the names of good counselors and support groups on them. He ignored the pitying looks from the delivery people who brought him supplies that allowed him to stay out of the world. He ignored the entreaties of everyone who knew him, encouraging him to start living again.

He even ignored the dreams of Brienne willing him to live after he’d lost his hand the first time. He gave up hope that they were going to meet, and even if they did, what then? She’d end up saddled with a useless, one-handed bum.

Then, just before his thirty-third nameday, Tysha sent him a book with a note.

_Jaime,_

_When we met, the first thing Tyrion told me was that you were the strongest, most amazing person he’d ever known. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for you to overcome the accident and losing your hand, but he was confident that not only would you do so, but that you would thrive because you weren’t afraid to face life’s challenges. I wish I’d had the chance to meet that man, because he sounds wonderful. Instead, I’ve only known the sullen, bitter shell of someone who goes by your name, and that man is breaking Tyrion’s heart. He’s tried everything he can think of to help you get through this as you helped him get through his surgeries when he was younger, but you keep shutting him out._

_If you think this is a shameless guilt trip, you’re right. I’m not going to be dramatic and say that I don’t want you in my house anymore, because we love you and I like to think that seeing us does you some good. But something has to change, because I can’t let you go on hurting Tyrion._

_I know your nameday isn’t for another week, but I thought you might like your gift early. Tyrion thought you might appreciate the story of Goldenhand the Just—I guess there’s a rumor that he was a Lannister? Anyway, he accomplished a great deal with only one hand, so maybe you can find some inspiration there._

Had the book not been Tyrion’s gift to him, Jaime would’ve thrown it in the trash regardless of the fact that its condition indicated that it was a priceless antique. He was tempted to throw it at Tysha’s head the next time he saw her, and it was three days before he picked it up with any intent of reading it. He planned to read the first chapter and the last, enough so that he could pretend he’d read the whole thing, but as he began reading, he found himself caught up in the story.

Four hours later, he set the book down, stunned. He had read about Goldenhand the Just in school, just as every kid who had to sit through Westerosi History had. But most of what he’d read he’d forgotten about until now. As with most accounts of Goldenhand the Just, the book covered the last two years of his life in great detail, including his quest to bring peace to the war-ravaged Riverlands and his heroism during the Long Night. However, unlike other books, which speculated on his origins, the author had been vague about who he might have been, almost as if they’d known the truth but wanted to hide it.

Jaime knew many things about his former self—known and reviled as the Kingslayer for killing Mad King Aerys II, pardoned by Robert Baratheon and thereafter a member of the Kingsguard. However, he knew these things because he’d lived through them. Recorded history on _that_ Jaime Lannister was slim, as most of the official records had been destroyed in the second Battle of the Bells. Most tales of the Kingslayer that had been handed down through the generations had been oral histories, which were notoriously unreliable. 

Now he knew the rest. Now he knew that he’d also been known as Goldenhand the Just, who had fought valiantly in the Long Night and died. That had been a jolt, although it shouldn’t have been. Obviously, he’d had to die at some point, but reading about how Goldenhand had died saving a fellow warrior…somehow, he knew it had been Brienne.

He’d died saving Brienne, and he didn’t even know if she’d known they were soulmates. He supposed that was why the gods had given them a second chance, if the gods ever got around to bringing them together.

_He accomplished a great deal with only one hand, so maybe you can find some inspiration there._

Strange as it now seemed to him, he’d never dreamed of the Long Night itself. Arriving at Winterfell with an army, training with Brienne, longing for Brienne, but not any of the battle itself. And it had been a long, brutal battle. Many of the survivors said that humanity almost hadn’t made it, and it was never clear exactly how the Others had been defeated.

During his freshman year of college, he’d taken an elective on the War of the Five Kings. He’d wanted to follow it up with one on the Long Night, but his father had insisted he take a speech class instead. Occasionally, as he learned more of his history, he would enter Brienne’s name and a phrase or event, but never found anything, which was odd as she’d been involved in the Long Night. The only thing he’d ever found on Brienne of Tarth was that she had been the last recorded Evenstar’s daughter, the title dying out with her father, who had perished defending their island against the Golden Company’s invasion. 

Hells, he’d even entered her name to see if there were any modern Briennes that might be her. He figured he might find a few Brienne Tarths, but to his shock, there were a lot of them out there. Not to mention a lot of Brienne Starks, Brienne Paynes, even a few Brienne Baratheons. He’d estimated what he figured to be her age based on their age difference before, which cut down on the number, but none of them were her. 

_Maybe this is how I find her—through actual research and not just random internet Googling. Brienne wasn’t that common a name back then, and if she was involved in the Long Night, her name should be recorded somewhere._

Jaime felt stirrings of excitement for the first time in years. She was out there, and he was going to find her. Maybe that’s why the gods hadn’t brought them together—although given that he’d died for her last time around, and he wasn’t even sure she’d known the truth, the gods damned well should’ve made them childhood sweethearts who married the day after they graduated from college.

But he wasn’t going to question them. He was going to…to…

Gods. He needed a shower, and he needed to call Tyrion to let him know that his nameday gift had been exactly what he needed.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tyrion,” he said quietly, “did you ever find out the name of the woman whose nameday party we missed when I had my accident?”

“Sometimes, I wish you’d never given me that godsdamned book,” Jaime grumbled two years later after dinner with Tyrion and Tysha. The three of them were sitting around the fireplace in Tyrion’s cavernous library on a chilly spring evening. Jaime deliberately avoided looking at the fire. “I think I’ve gone on more wild goose chases than I did when I was traveling through Essos.”

“It does seem strange,” Tyrion admitted. “It’s almost as if the woman went to extreme measures not to be found.”

It certainly did. Jaime had spent months poring over old books all over Westeros, spending most of his time in the North. But even though most of the people involved in the fighting from nobles to smallfolk had been identified, there had been no one named Brienne. The only whiff he’d gotten was of a woman who had been known in the Riverlands as “Brienne the Beauty,” but beyond a brief mention in a book found on what used to be the Quiet Isle, there was nothing more.

“Tyrion…” Jaime bit his lip. “Do you think it’s possible she hid her identity because of me? Because she was ashamed of being my soulmate?”

“What? Why would she be ashamed of you? You were Goldenhand the Just!”

“And the Kingslayer,” Jaime added. “I’m sure there were people who never forgot that. It may have been easier for her after I died for people not to know that.”

“But how would people have known? You said your soulmarks were on your right hips, so it was always covered up.”

Tysha walked into the room carrying three open bottles of Night’s Watch Ale. She handed one to Jaime and sat beside Tyrion on the love seat, handing him bottle. Jaime took a deep drink of his.

“Sometimes I think I’m crazy,” Jaime admitted. “Maybe I made her up. Maybe I only think I was Goldenhand the Just.”

“You’re not crazy,” Tysha said with a sympathetic look. “You’re frustrated. You should take a little time away from this project, go to Pentos or Tyrosh for a little bit to unwind and recharge.”

“And if you go to Tyrosh, you can bring back the good brandy,” Tyrion said with a grin.

Jaime snorted. “I told you, you’re getting horse piss.” He almost smiled. “I shouldn’t joke about that. I had a nasty dream once about drinking horse piss, not long after I lost the hand.”

Tysha shuddered. “I used to wish I could dream about my soulmate, so I’d know him when I saw him. Hearing about some of the things you remember, I’m glad I never did.”

Jaime tensed slightly, remembering what had happened to her and his role in it. He’d never told them exactly what he’d remembered when he’d gone catatonic, only that he’d seen them together. He tried to shut down his guilt, reminding himself that this time, he’d made sure Tywin didn’t do anything to drive them apart, but it was hard sometimes.

“I’m serious, though,” Tysha said. “You went from complete recluse to obsessive researcher without a breather in between.”

“You say that as though there’s much difference between the two,” Tyrion said. She lightly smacked him on the leg.

“I know you’re right.” Jaime took another drink. “I should take a break and look at this with fresh eyes. I just worry that if I stop searching, I’ll never find her.”

“Or alternatively, you’ll find her the minute you stop searching.” Tysha gave him a knowing smile.

“Maybe.” He looked around the room. When Tyrion and Tysha had decided to move to Lannisport and bought this place, they’d wanted to make the library the showpiece of the house. The bookshelves had been built into the walls and were full of books—Tysha loved to read almost as much as Tyrion did. Even though there were official “family rooms,” they could be found here more often than not, curled up together on their couch, reading by the fire.

_If nothing else good comes of my memories, at least they found each other,_ he thought. 

Jaime noticed a slim ebook reader on the end table next to the couch. “Which one of you switched over to digital?” Jaime asked.

“I did,” Tysha said. “It’s light, I can adjust the size of the words, and I can fit a thousand or more books on there. It’s especially handy when I go on vacation. I was able to fit my Kindle in my purse, whereas _someone_ had to bring an extra suitcase for his books.”

“The extra suitcase was for the books I purchased, not what I brought with me,” Tyrion protested with a smile. “Call me a sentimental fool, but I still prefer the good old-fashioned hardcover.” 

“Sentimental fool,” Jaime said to groans from the other two. “What are you reading now?”

“Funny you should ask, because I think your search has influenced my reading choices. It’s called _The Blue Girl._ It’s about a girl who grows up on a small island.” Tysha got the faraway look of the heavy reader. “But it’s about more than that. It’s about women who defy the norms of society even as they long to be part of it. It’s about an ugly girl who gets judged for her looks and doesn’t let it make her bitter. It’s about…acceptance and finding your place in the world. The characters are so vivid that you can believe they’re real. I downloaded both sequels already. I haven’t even let myself read the descriptions in case they spoiled something from this book.”

Jaime sat back in his chair, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What did you say it was called again?” he asked.

“ _The Blue Girl,_ by S.G. Tarth. I think you’d like it, but if you’re serious about taking a break from looking for Brienne, you probably should take a break from everything remotely connected to the time period.” 

“If you want something fun to read while you’re gone, I can recommend…” Tyrion was saying, but Jaime tuned him out.

_An ugly girl who gets judged for her looks. Brienne the Beauty. Blue girl. Blue eyes?_

Jaime reached for his phone, voice shaking as he gave the command to search for “S.G. Tarth” as Tysha and Tyrion kept talking. He got a number of hits—basic information from their publisher, listings of the books from various booksellers, and the obligatory Ravenpedia page.

Jaime went to the Ravenpedia page.

**_Brienne Tarth_ ** _(b. 870), known better by her pseudonym **S.G. Tarth** , is a Westerosi historical fantasy writer and noted academic on the War of the Five Kings…in an interview said she was always interested in the time period, but didn’t start writing until she went through some old journals after her twenty-fifth nameday. Tarth reportedly said, “That nameday was a disaster, but at least something good came of it…”_

There was no picture, to Jaime’s disappointment, but he went back and clicked on another link, one for her publisher. Surely there would be a picture there, surely…

The picture was small and in black-and-white, which was a shame because it disguised the color of her eyes. But it was undeniably her. His Brienne. And even though he hadn’t read a single word of her books, he knew the story she was writing was _their_ story.

A disastrous twenty-fifth nameday—the last day she would’ve expected her soulmate to show up, and it led to the start of her writing career. Surely it was a coincidence that…he checked the year, then did the math.

“Tyrion,” he said quietly, “did you ever find out the name of the woman whose nameday party we missed when I had my accident?”

Tyrion gave him an odd look. “Uh, no, but why does it matter?”

“Could you check with Margaery Tyrell?”

“I haven’t talked with her since the day of your accident. I don’t even know if the number I have for her is…” Something in Jaime’s expression must’ve convinced Tyrion that this wasn’t some random request. “Hang on.” He got up and went to get his phone. He returned with the phone to his ear. “If I don’t get her, I can always try her brother. We’ve been talking with him about redecorating the spare—hello, Margaery?”

Jaime’s stomach clenched as Tyrion paused. “It’s Tyrion Lannister…I know, it’s been a long time. I should’ve called you to thank you for sending the flowers to Jaime, but it was a crazy time, I’m sure you understand…uh-huh.” As Tyrion continued with the idle chitchat, Jaime contemplated strangling him. _Finally,_ Tyrion got to the point. “Listen, this is gonna seem like a weird question, but what was your friend’s name, the one whose party we missed?” Whatever Margaery said caused Tyrion to almost drop the phone. He looked at Jaime. “Brienne…Tarth. Really? Hey, is she any relation to S.G. Tarth? My wife loves their books and…I’ll be damned. Small world. Maybe you could introduce us sometime…oh, really? What time? Hang on, let me get some paper to write that down.” Tyrion went back to the other room, and Jaime could no longer hear him.

Not that he’d heard much past _Brienne Tarth._

He should have met her five years ago. He’d been within hours of meeting her when that asshole had run through the red light and plowed into his car. It had been bad enough that the stupid son of a bitch had cost Jaime his hand, now he knew that he’d also cost him five years with Brienne.

Tyrion returned and pressed a piece of paper into Jaime’s hand. “She’s here in Lannisport for a book signing tomorrow, ten o’clock. I won’t ask you to bring back an autographed book for Tysha…not this time, anyway.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime didn’t sleep that night. He borrowed Tysha’s Kindle and read _The Blue Girl_ and most of the sequel, _The Blue Knight._ As the sun came up, Jaime showered and shaved, somehow managing not to draw blood despite shaking fingers. Then came figuring out what to wear. He changed his shirt three times, going from crimson (Lannister colors, would she appreciate that?) to blue with a faint pink stripe (Tarth colors, maybe she’d appreciate that more) to, at last, green (Tysha told him it brought out his eyes while Tyrion laughed so hard Jaime hoped his stomach hurt later). He debated on whether he should go with a formal suit or something casual (casual, this was a book signing, not a business lunch).

Tysha tried to get him to eat something, but Jaime knew that anything he ate would come right back up. He’d taken so long getting ready that by the time he was done, it was just after nine and the book signing was scheduled to start in an hour. By mutual agreement, Tysha drove Jaime to the bookstore because as nervous as he was, Jaime ran the risk of getting in another accident. She dropped him off and wished him luck, then told him that if he needed her to pick him up later to give her a call.

“But you won’t need me,” she said with a wink, and then she was gone, and Jaime was left facing a chalkboard outside the entrance that announced:

_10 AM—12 PM TODAY:  
CITADEL BOOKSELLERS PROUDLY WELCOMES  
 **S.G. TARTH**  
BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE KNIGHT”  
READING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF HER NEW NOVEL  
“THE BLUE CAPTIVE”  
BOOK SIGNING TO FOLLOW!!_

On either side of the chalkboard was a banner with the cover of the latest book. Jaime was disappointed, hoping there might be another picture of Brienne, preferably one in color. He checked his phone and reminded himself that he was half an hour away from seeing her in person.

The bookstore was larger than Jaime expected, and a crowd had already formed. Jaime considered whether he could go up to one of the employees, play the “Hello, I’m a Lannister” card, and get a backstage pass, or whatever the literary equivalent of one was. He hated trading in on his family name, though.

While he waited, Jaime purchased a copy of _The Blue Captive_ and began reading the first chapter despite not having finished the previous book. He hadn’t needed to, really, since he already knew most of what he’d missed. He chuckled as he read about how close Brienne came to clubbing him over the head with an oar and chucking him overboard the skiff, vows to Lady Catelyn Stark be damned. Jaime smiled, remembering that he’d thought of doing the same to her after she’d saved them from Robin Ryger by rolling the boulder over the bluff’s edge and onto his boat.

“Fortunate that neither of us gave in, wench,” he murmured, startling a woman standing near him. Jaime quickly apologized, but still earned himself a dirty look. He was about to start the second chapter when he stopped and flipped back to the beginning.

_“You figure to row all the way to King’s Landing, milady?” Kingslayer asked with a sarcastic drawl._

_“You will call me Brella, not_ milady.”

Jaime wondered why she’d gone with “milady” instead of “wench.” Had it been her publisher’s decision, which seemed odd given the subject matter she wrote about, or…

Jaime got an idea. He went up to the woman who had overheard him, gave her his most charming smile, and asked, “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

She looked suspiciously at him but dug into her purse and pulled out a pen. Jaime thanked her and bent over a table of hardcovers, opening the book to the cover page. He painstakingly wrote one sentence before he returned the pen to its owner just as someone—the store manager, most likely—clapped his hands several times.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” he said in a loud, clear voice. “We at Citadel Booksellers are glad to have you here. Before I bring out our special guest for this afternoon, I’d like to remind everyone about our special on classic novels—buy two, get one free. We also encourage you to sign up for a Membership Rewards card for all kinds of discounts.” There was a short pause. “All right, then. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my honor to introduce one of the most talented authors I’ve read in close to a decade—S.G. Tarth!”

The crowd applauded as someone came out from behind the curtain that had been erected.

Every cell in Jaime’s body screamed in pure joy at the sight of her. “Brienne,” he gasped softly, drowned out by the applause. He wondered if she felt the connection as he did, sensing somehow that he was there, but she gave no sign of it if she did. Jaime’s eyes drank her in.

As in their former life together, she was ugly. The blue pantsuit she wore suited her well, but it couldn’t disguise the fact that she was tall, large-framed, small-breasted, and had no curves to speak of. Straw-colored hair ruthlessly pulled into a knot at the back of her head. Loads of freckles on her face. Broken nose, large, puffy lips, crooked teeth, mulish jaw. There was a scar running from the corner of her right eye down the length of her face. It wasn’t as unsightly as the scar she’d had before, but still noticeable.

And she still had the most astonishing blue eyes Jaime had seen.

“Thank you so much for coming today,” she said, her voice soft and velvety and even lovelier than he heard in his dreams. “I’ve been looking forward to being here with you and getting your thoughts on _The Blue Captive,_ as well as the rest of the series. You’ll have the opportunity to ask those questions after I finish reading the first chapter.” She smiled shyly. “For those of you who listen to the audiobooks, I warn you that I’m not nearly as good as Arianne Martell.” 

Jaime felt a rush of nerves as she looked out on the crowd and he ducked his head to avoid her gaze. He could almost hear Tyrion laughing again. _For the Seven’s sake, you idiot, you’ve been waiting thirty-five years for her. What the fuck?_

Jaime thought about what Tyrion had said after his accident all those years ago. _How will I know she’ll love me because of me and not because the gods picked me for her?_

_Don’t be an idiot. The gods didn’t only pick her out for you once, they’ve done it twice. Listen to them for a change._

Brienne sat down in a chair, opened her book, and began to read. Jaime didn’t know why she’d compared herself unfavorably to Arianne Martell. He would be happy to listen to her for days. She recounted the journey down the river, and if she occasionally stumbled when saying “milady” when she should’ve been saying “wench,” he doubted anyone chalked it up to anything other than nerves.

Brienne finished the chapter with Kingslayer’s words of surprise that she meant to keep her oath, and the audience applauded. After the noise died down, she said, “Thank you. Before we begin with questions, I just want to warn those of you who haven’t finished the book yet that I’ll be answering questions that will spoil what happens. You might want to leave for a bit if you want to avoid hearing them. Don’t worry, you’ll still get your books autographed if you want, I just want you to be able to enjoy the book without knowing.”

Only a couple of people left. Once they were well enough away, Brienne nodded at a young woman with her hand up. “All right, let’s start with you.”

Jaime stood silently as Brienne answered questions, silently filling in the truth where she was unable to.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

Brienne launched into a lengthy explanation of how she’d been fascinated by this era in Westeros history since she was young. Jaime simplified her answer. _She’s been dreaming about her soulmate for years._

“Is Blue in love with Kingslayer?” 

Brienne blushed and said that Blue definitely had feelings for Kingslayer, but she didn’t think Blue would characterize them as love. _Yes, she is. I don’t know when she fell in love with him, but she is._

“Is Kingslayer in love with Blue?” 

Brienne hesitated for some reason. “I…I think the same answer applies to him, but obviously Blue doesn’t believe he could ever have feelings for her.” _Yes, though he’s an idiot who doesn’t realize it until she’s gone._

“What is Kingslayer’s actual name?”

Brienne smiled. “What do you think his name is?” A few suggestions were thrown out there, including the correct answer, which came from the lady whose pen Jaime had borrowed.

The question-and-answer session lasted for almost half an hour, after which the manager instructed everyone to line up so that Brienne could sign their books. Jaime wound up somewhere in the middle. Jaime’s anxiety ratcheted up as the line got shorter and shorter. He began to wonder if this had been a good idea. What if she told him to fuck off because he hadn’t shown up to her twenty-fifth nameday party? What if she was married? There was so little known about her that he didn’t know for sure. She might’ve gone ahead and married someone else, thinking that he was never going to come.

He hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger, though that didn’t guarantee that she was still single. 

The line continued to shrink, and as Jaime got closer to her, his left wrist began to tingle. He resisted the urge to scratch at it as he noticed Brienne flex her left hand with a small frown.

And then he was before her. She was still looking at her hand as though something were wrong with it, but when he set her book on the table in front of her, she turned her attention back to the business at hand. She picked up her pen, slid the book toward her, and opened it to the front page, where Jaime had written his one sentence.

_I’m sorry I took so long, wench._

Brienne seemed to freeze, her lips parting slightly, revealing her crooked front teeth. Jaime wanted to say a dozen things at once to her, most of all that he loved her, he’d always loved her, and…

Slowly, she looked up at him. He met her gaze, a look that spanned a minute, an hour, a lifetime…two lifetimes.

“Jaime,” she whispered.

And even though there had been no doubt in her voice, Jaime turned his left arm so she could see their soulmark on his wrist.

_I’m here. I found you, and we’re finally going to be together._

“Hello, Brienne,” he said, pouring every bit of love he had for her into his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Jaime's side of the story has come to an end. I hope you guys thought it was well worth the read! :)
> 
> I have plans for a one-shot sequel about what happened immediately after this scene, which I hope to have finished by Sunday.
> 
> Thanks again to waxedpaperdoor for the beta read, and to everyone who took the time to comment or leave kudos! You can find me on Tumblr: https://writergirl2011.tumblr.com


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